Priorities
by Maestus
Summary: Sebastian Moran knows his place on Jim's list of priorities. It's right at the bottom, below Sherlock Holmes, John Watson & every other person on the earth. He's disposable even if nobody seems to recognise that. So kidnap him; it's not like Jim will care
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first attempt at writing Moriarty/Moran so apologies if anyone is OOC. Also, I've been having some formatting issues (what can I say? Microsoft Office _detests _me) so if anything doesn't make sense, I'm sorry.**

**I already have most of this story written so I'll just be gradually uploading it chapter by chapter ^-^**

**Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just messing about in someone else's sandbox, dreaming of taking over **

**Anyway, enjoy!**

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Sebastian Moran wasn't too sure what his boss required him to do this time, other than the fact that it was apparently 'urgent' and he would do best to bring his rifle. Then again, that hardly differed from any of his other assignments so he could deal with that. He could also deal with the fact that Jim was now dancing around him with the air of an excited five year old, muttering happily to himself and rubbing his hands together gleefully because that was just Jim all over and he wouldn't be the same without that. When it came to Jim, Sebastian could and would deal with anything.

"Sebby!" Jim declared in delight, halting mid stride and staring up at his sniper, grin plastered on his face. "I have a job for you!"

Sebastian had to resist the urge to roll his eyes and say "I never would have guessed". Thank god one of the perks of working for Moriarty was a strong sense of self preservation...

"Sherlock's ignoring me again, Seb. I don't like being ignored." Okay, he would have to amend his earlier statement; there was one thing he couldn't deal with and that was Sherlock bloody Holmes and his stupid fucking curly haired head that had Jim obsessing. Sherlocked indeed... The number of times Sebastian had dreamt of putting a bullet through the self proclaimed consulting detective's forehead - that was on his good days mind - and removing the only obstacle that stood between himself and his boss. But Jim would kill him; Jim would never forgive him for disposing of the one man he viewed as a worthy adversary; Jim would never love him...

"Seb? Sebastian! Are you even listening?" Moriarty looked pissed, expression hinting that Seb had just made the wrong move in ignoring him. So as not to offend him anymore, the sniper dutifully nodded, if a bit more listlessly than usual. For some reason this prompted a rare display of concern from the consulting criminal, one hand stretching out to rest on Sebastian's forehead. "You're not ill, are you?" Jim asked with a frown, withdrawing the hand suspiciously. "How are you supposed to shoot if you're ill?" Of course; he was only worried in case Sebastian wasn't able to perform his duties. He only mattered up until the point where he outlived his usefulness whilst Sherlock...Sherlock held a place in Jim's heart indefinitely. A lesser man might have shown some form of reaction to this very obvious rejection; Seb merely pulled his mask closer around himself and maintained his neutral expression. "I'm well, sir."

"Now now Sebby! I told you to call me Jim! Sir sounds so _old_! Now get your head back into the game; it's time to ensure Sherlock has attention only for me. I want you to take out John Watson."

Surprise, surprise. First it was kidnap, now it was kill. What was going to be next; necrophilia? He shuddered suddenly; knowing Jim, that was entirely possible. The mastermind had more to add, having failed to notice the sniper's momentary slip up in the midst of his excitement.

"Make it cold and calculated, executioner style. Make the death of John Watson a forgettable unimportant death that will quickly slip from the minds of the public and leave nothing but a tombstone. I want Sherlock to care for me and _only _me." Jim's voice was so level as he declared this, so sane it would have been frightening to anyone else but this was Sebastian Moran; he had seen a _lot _worse. And only he could have the nerve to fall in love with a psychopath.

"I'll see what I can do, Jim." The perfect soldier; compliant and loyal, never flinching or questioning orders. Absolutely not filled with despair about a love he knows will always be unrequited. Satisfied, Jim left without a word.

~~~linebreak~~~

That was how Sebastian came to be sitting on a roof in torrential rain, holding himself a miniature pity party and just sulking in general as he overlooked Baker Street. Truth be told, there had been at least five different opportunities in the last three hours at which he had had a clear view of John Watson but he couldn't bring himself to take the shot because that would mean resigning himself to the fact that, as long as Sherlock Holmes was alive, he was always going to be second best in Jim's world. But with _John Watson_ around, there was at least someone to ensure Sherlock himself didn't mirror Jim's obsession; there was someone there to ensure that Jim at least remembered Sebastian existed.

God... He was acting so pathetic, like some scorned lover... Which he supposed he was. In his own oddly twisted way, Sebastian was strangely grateful when the icy muzzle of the pistol dug into his temple and the chilling voice coldly instructed him."Away from the gun or we'll be finding out whether or not there is anything resembling a brain in there."

Absentmindedly, the sniper considered all the possible ways of disarming his foe, wondering if it would even be worth it in the long run. A few bruises wouldn't make much difference, surely? Maybe take the insufferable so called 'genius' down a few pegs... Mouth clamped together, Sebastian turned to face his enemy, expression giving nothing away and eyes cold and empty. This time round, he'd be good; he would keep both his hands and rifle to himself and not attempt to decapitate the infuriatingly smug detective. It seemed his emotions had other intentions though. Never before had he known such intense hatred as that which assaulted him now with the curly haired menace gazing down at him so disdainfully and the thundering rain soaking him to the bone.

"I'll give you 10 seconds to start explaining why your crosshairs have been trained on John Watson for the last few hours or I make assumptions and deal with it accordingly."Sherlock Holmes declared smoothly, flicking the safety off and making it all too clear that this was no bluff. Huh; who would have known? The menace did care about someone after all. Slowly, Sebastian bit down on his lip in one last ditch attempt at maintaining his sense of calm... It failed. Jim was going to kill him for this show of weakness later on.

"And why should I? What's to stop me from turning this rifle round and blowing you off the roof?" the sniper growled, earning himself a derisive chuckle from the detective.

"If it came to that, I am confident that there would be a bullet through the inside of your skull before you could so much as move. God...You people are all the same, aren't you? Fooling yourselves into delusions of self importance and intelligence; you are aware that you're nothing more than hired muscle; a disposable soldier? You mean _nothing _to him." The detective didn't even need to specify who "he" was for it to achieve the required impact and Sebastian looked away, feeling sick at having the cold iron truth so cruelly shoved into his face. Sure, he had known all along but for it to be so calmly presented to him in such a cool and factual manner - and by this man no less - ; that hurt. His comeback was weak and ill thought-out but it was all he could manage in his current situation.

"And you know nothing!" he spat, tightening his grip on his rifle and slowly lifting it whilst Sherlock sneered in that horribly smug know-it-all manner of his. It would only take one swing and then this would be over and he could slink back to some hiding place to lie low until Jim forgave him enough for his failure to take him back. Three...Two...One.

Seb brought the butt of the rifle whirling round, aiming for a glancing blow to those haughty cheekbones and figuring that if he was lucky enough, he could maybe break or at least fracture them, if only in the hope that it could console his bruised ego. Then something happened that took him completely by surprise. The detective swung a foot round, clipping Sebastian neatly on the ankle and taking his legs out from beneath him, sending all 6 foot of sniper tumbling towards the ground. His head impacted against the wet concrete with a thump that sent stars dancing across his vision and he blinked in surprise, having not been anticipating that. Looked like the freak did have something going for him after all.

"As much as I would like to stay here and play," the detective drawled, languidly handcuffing Seb to a nearby pipe, "I have better things to do with my time. Besides, my brother wants a word with you and for once, I think I'm quite happy to let him have his way."

Seb sighed and allowed his head to thunk back against the metal. Maybe death by Moriarty would have been the better option. At the very least, it would have been less humiliating.

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**Was it any good? Thank you for taking the time to read and please take the time to leave some feedback; con-crit and reviews are highly appreciated!**

**Next chapter should be up hopefully soon (:**


	2. Chapter 2

**Heya! And here we go with the second part of Priorities! I _think_ Microsoft Word and I have managed to sort out our issues but who knows? I very nearly wasn't able to upload this as my laptop completely disconnected from the wireless and internet before refusing to acknowledge my flash drive. A lesson learnt in letting fathers and brothers attempt to figure out where the on button is! ^-^**

**Seb might be a little OOC in this but there are reasons for that!**

**A massive thank you to TimeyWimeyKab and TSylvestrisA for reviewing last chapter and another bi thank you to everyone who favourited or story alerted; it's always great to know people are reading and enjoying your work! =D**

**And here we go; chapter 2!**

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"Your name would be a nice start." Mycroft Holmes commented, taking a delicate sip of tea as he surveyed his prisoner. "Or if not then your rank at least? An army man like you, there's got to be some sort of pride, no? Unless..." The older man leaned back with a smug air, like a self satisfied cat. "A dishonourable discharge?" Sebastian suppressed a growl at the irritatingly pompous man before him and instead concentrated on the ceiling, consoling himself with fantasies of the numerous ways to put this _creature _out of its misery. He didn't have a clue how long it had been since the elder Holmes brother's minions had dragged from the roof and into the waiting black car, confiscating everything but the clothes he was wearing from him and the scowl he had plastered on his face, but it already been too long. Whilst the politician continued to ramble on, Sebastian found himself absent-mindedly wondering whether Jim had noticed his absence, whether he was worried and had his network out scouring the streets looking for his sniper whilst he himself paced angrily back and forth, continuing his attempts to call Seb despite knowing he would receive no answer. Ha; of course not. It was more than likely that the psychopath was examining his fingernails in boredom as some pathetic underling instructed the replacement sniper on the most effective way off taking out Sebastian Moran.

Oh to be worthless.

That didn't mean he was going to talk though; nosier. Mycroft You-Are-Beneath-Me Holmes had another thing coming if he thought he could break Jim Moriarty's pet tiger with one interrogation session and some offers of trees and crumpets.

When the minions arrived to drag Seb away to a nice cushy little cell, both kidnapper and hostage breathed sighs of relief. God but that man was boring.

~~~ linebreak ~~~

They brought him food and water after that, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor of the small room that was to be his prison for the foreseeable future. True to his expectations, it was as lavishly furnished and well kept as he'd imagined; a pool of luxury into which he'd been thrown. That didn't make it anything other than a cell though. Seb wondered how many clueless diplomats had wondered past this area without so much as suspecting what its true purpose was.

He didn't touch the food, no matter how tempting it looked and as for the water, a bit of minor acting before he poured it down the toilet took care of that. His captor was Sherlock Holmes' brother; he wouldn't put drugging beneath them. Besides, there were other ways to escape without being on the receiving end of a sniper's bullet.

~~~ linebreak ~~~

Three days. That's how long it was before anyone picked up on Sebastian's fast approaching, and self-induced, delirium, taking in his sickly appearance and croaky voice with pursed lips before caring him off for another round with Holmes' goons (the first session with Mycroft himself had been a one off; afterwards, well, that's what he had employees for. And if they weren't quite as nice as their boss well...That was hardly his fault)

Fast forward 5 or 6 hours and the numbing bite of lethargy was beginning to gnaw at him, his entire body trembling with a slight chill that he knew would not leave and the inside of his mouth feeling like the Sahara desert. A bit of over-exaggerated acting and minions 1 & 2 would be up in panic about their captive looking like he was about to die on them and Seb would be on the fast track out of here. See? Jim wasn't the only smart one in this criminal enterprise. Of course, he was assuming he was still a _part _of said criminal enterprise. No assassins had arrived just yet so obviously Jim held some faith in him yet...

As it was, he didn't even need to act, just went against his instincts and allowed his body to give in to the effects of dehydration, slumping forward in his seat with a small moan and slitted eyes. God...This was why he usually shut himself off from such feelings of pain and illness; out was so much easier to concentrate on the important stuff when you weren't feeling looked you'd just been flattened by a Bengal tiger (and believe him when he said he knew what that felt like). And then, of course, there was the whole matter of showing weakness. Weakness lost you credibility; weakness got you killed. Jim didn't like weakness... It was amazing how everything came back to Jim in the end. Jim, Jim, Jim. Where would he be without that twisted little psychopath and his sick games of mind fuckery? Lost, that's where; lost and dead.

...He must be worse off than he thought; normally he isn't this bad._ Pull yourself together, Seb. Stop acting like a lovelorn teenager, Seb._ Sure thing, boss; as soon as I'm out of this goddamn prison, boss.

At least his ruse (though the way things were feeling, things were getting serious fast - _Hey, Seb, I _**told** _you that you were sick)_ had had the desired effect. Interrogator One was scrambling round to his side, looking sick himself with panic because after all, a dead prisoner didn't look good on your record, whilst Two fumbled with a mobile before giving up with a curse.

"Oh, fuck this; there's a hospital not far from here and this bastard is not escaping so easily.

_Oh, you poor thing, you have no idea. Maybe, when I'm outta here and if Jim hasn't already replaced me, I'll make it quick and painless when I kill you just cause you're so innocent and I'm such a nice guy/_

Grunt One is slightly more intelligent than his companion. "Are you kidding? This is Moriarty's right-hand man we're dealing with here, or so the Iceman tells us; this it's probably just a ruse so he can get outside, knock us out and make a run for it."

_See, Sebby? Even the grunts have got you all figured out. Honestly, you're so _**boring**! _You know what I do to boring things... _

Shut up, Jim. I have this under perfect control without your help; I can do the vulnerable thing as well, you know. See, _Jimmy? _I'm fine without you (_liar_); I will survive and all that shit.

"I know a dying man when I see one; he obviously hadn't been drinking since the Virgin," - Huh; who would have known that Mycroft's own minions called Sherlock that as well - ", caught him, despite what everyone else seems to insist. Sneaky little fucker... Get him to a doctor now otherwise we're gonna have a pissed off employer to deal with and probably an even more pissed off psychopath."

What; Jim? Nah; he'll probably just thank you for saving him the bother of having to dispose of the rubbish himself. Hey, you'll probably receive ears in the post or something as a show of appreciation; that means he likes you. If he sends you something nice, be afraid, be very afraid.

Ah, they're dragging him now; why bother waiting when there's so much more fun to be had? It would be almost ridiculously simple to take them out from here, even in his weakened state. A well aimed punch, an elbow in just the right place, and then Jim would have to take him back because he was more than just some emotionless robotic sniper, goddamn it! I can be whatever you want me to be, boss. Just say the words and I'll do it, whatever it is.

_Oh really? So that's why John Watson's still alive then, hmmm? That's why you _**disobeyed**_ and deliberately _**ignored** _a direct order? That's why dearest Sherly was able to sneak up on you, handcuff you to a pipe and allow his brother to come pick you up at leisure then? That's why you're acting like a scorned woman? _

Shut up, Jim. Come back and preach to me when you're real and not just a particularly convincing hallucination.

He allowed his captors to sling his arms around their shoulders and support the majority of his weight, hanging between them like a sack of potatoes. So what if it's not the most undignified of positions? He's suffered worse; will probably suffer worse.

"What is going on here?" Sharp brisk tones demanding answers; calculating eyes drilling holes into his forehead, Mycroft strode forward with that typical Holmes air of superiority, surveying the scene before him in distaste.

"Severe dehydration." Grunt 1 explains, stance stiff and to attention. Just to make things more difficult for the guy, Sebastian slumps forward and pulls on their grips, causing both to stumble forward, much to their chagrin. Mycroft raises an eyebrow.

"And you're positive he's not faking? It would be more prudent to simply call in a doctor, yes?"

Silence before...

"No; a hospital's the best place for him." Suddenly a different pair of hands, rough and calloused, were there examining him and when Sebastian finally managed to focus his blurry vision, it was to find the oddly concerned face of John Watson. Well, this was a...surprise. He wondered whether the good doctor was here of his own choice or had been kidnapped as seemed to be the thing of the moment; if he knew just who he was and why he was here. Or had the freak not deemed that information as being important?

It felt rather strange having the fingers of the man he was supposed to kill searching at his throat for his pulse.

"Pulse not too weak... Still an idea to get him to a hospital; he needs fluids put into him. One of your employees?"

"Yes." Mycroft didn't so much as hesitate in answering, his face completely impassive.

"I'm surprised no one noticed earlier..." Watson's hands had yet to leave Sebastian's neck, their warmth burning into his flesh. "Dehydration... Quite severe and..." Now his fingers were at the sniper's _forehead_; for god's sake, stop _touching! _It was creepy. "And a good old dose of the flu."

_I said that you were ill,_ Jim crowed happily and this time, Sebastian actually let out a growl. Goddamn hallucinations and Jim Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes and John freaking Watson. In fact, goddamn the world in general. Yes, that was the mood he was in now. London should feel grateful that he didn't do the sort of things Jim did whilst angry.

He must have blacked out between points because one moment he was still inside, the next a wind was tugging at his most definitely greasy hair as he was manhandled into a taxi, a flash of government ID silencing any complaints the cabbie may have had. Dr. Watson was still there, keeping a close eye on him and overall just making things more difficult. He could quite easily have taken out the two grunts but Watson would most likely prove to be a tricky customer... He could deal with it. He was Sebastian Moran, Jim Moriarty's right hand man, and that was a position that wasn't easy to obtain.

For the rest of the journey, Seb kept his mouth shut and played the part of the deathly ill patient perfectly.

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**Sorry if any of that was confusing; when writing from the POV of someone ill or in pain, I tend to write a bit more disjointed so as to make it more convincing ^-^**

**I'd love for you to drop a review and say whether or not you liked this, whether it needs to be improved etc. Both reviews and con-crit are highly welcomed!**

**Chapter 3 should be up soon!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Howdy guys! Hope you're all enjoying the story so far! Once again apologies for any OOCness and typos (I used Polaris office on my phone to type this and all I'm saying is that the auto-correct has some...issues)**

**Thank you to all who have story alerted and/or faved and a massive thank you with added hugs to XMillieX, A and TSylvestrisA for reviewing the last chapter!**

**Enjoy!**

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To any observers, the quartet of men stumbling out of the taxi outside the hospital must have made quite the sight because Sebastian would be darned if he was letting them manhandle him without trouble. An elbow in the right place, a knee bent at just the right moment and he tumbled down onto the asphalt, giving the grunts a few moments of relief before he struck. His moves were neither stylish not elegant in the slightest but they got the job done and that was what mattered. Things were over in a matter of seconds.

With both grunt 1 and grunt 2 down for the count, Seb flashed a crooked grin at the befuddled Watson who had barely managed to get a foot out of the taxi.

"Pleasure meeting you, Dr. Watson." he rasped, pretending to tip an imaginary cap. "Do give our regards to Sherlock from Jim and I. Oh, and tell him that next time I won't be as lax. Just an off day, you know; we all have them after all."

With that said, he slammed shut the cab door, spun on his heel and took off down the street but not before he witnessed Watson roll his eyes and mutter something that sounded like "You lot; you're all the same. I'll try not to say I told you so when I meet you next in the hospital." The cabbie merely gave Sebastian a smile.

"Nice seeing you sir; the boys on the inside will be glad to hear you made it out. What shall I do with our good doctor here?"

"Take him wherever he wants to go and I'll look the other way; I think he's earned it this time." Seb called, not bothering to look back.

"Of course. You might want to fix yourself up before seeing Moriarty; you know how much he hates you being ill."

A sudden grimace; it was that obvious? If so he was most definitely off his game... Stop laughing Jim; I'm not even going to consider admitting that you're right until you're standing in front of me and are _solid. _And even then, that'll be pushing out.

There was no response, just mocking laughter in his head that varied between sounding like it came from Jim and sounding more like the freak or his icy brother who, if what Sebastian had heard was true, gave a whole new making to the phrase "Big Brother is watching".

Creepy buggers... They just couldn't leave him alone.

~~~ linebreak~~~

Sebastian stopped only once on his stumbled journey back to Jim's current flat and that was to shuffle into one of those 24 hour stores having indulged in a little pick pocketing (and if he was a little sloppy, who could blame him?) so that he could a purchase a bottle of water. Around him, tired shoppers reached for the energy drinks en masse, looking ready to drop after a day at the office or the garage or at the end of a pistol. This was in the case of a thin weedy looking guy who was in fact yet another of Jim's numerous employees, also one of Seb's favourites. He and the man exchanged terse nods, pretending that they didn't spend the length of Jim's 'business' meetings discussing the pros and cons of various firearms and how long it would be before Jim destroyed his latest place of residence after which Jim would send him off on some unnecessary assignment simply out of spite that Sebastian dared to be friendly with someone other than himself. Oddly enough, the claim that he was merely keeping tabs on the men he worked with did nothing to appease the psychopath.

Taking small sips as he walked, the sniper decided that he needed to come up with a better escape tactic. Either he was getting too old for this (highly unlikely - he was younger than his boss) or Jim took more out of them than he thought (highly probable). And no, despite what Watson had claimed, he was not ill and was grasping onto objects for support, thank you very much. This was said to the phantom Moriarty still grinning at his shoulder.

He walked into the flat and didn't fall over.

~~~ linebreak ~~~

"I'm so glad you've finally decided to join us." Jim drawled, not looking away from the television screen."What am I going to have to mop up then?"

"Nothing." Sebastian ground out, leaning against the door frame for support with his head bowed. He was fairly confident that the world was not supposed to tip in such an alarming manner. "Fredericks has great timing."

"Of course he does; that's why I employ him."_Stop being so stupid, Seb._"From what I heard, you broke Henderson's nose and have quite possibly rendered Matthews incapable of having children naturally, not the best way to thank those who got you out."_Stop incapacitating my men; good goons are hard to come by, you know._

Wait...The two grunts were Moriarty's? Well...that was unexpected; he'd been convinced the pair were lodged so deep within the Iceman's pocket that they'd forgotten what sunlight was.

"And at long last he catches on!" Jim exclaimed, making a little dance with his hands before his face abruptly turned serious. "What; did you think I was just going to leave you there? Don't be stupid."

And another piece of unexpected information; this was turning out to be a day of surprises. It was probably too good to be true.

"I couldn't run the risk of you spilling any information; I really can't be bothered having to clear up any more of your messes."

Yup, he was right. Why bother getting your hopes up? And what messes? Jim made more of them by himself in one week than he had in his entire career. He was Sebastian Moran; he didn't do _messes_. Maybe minor slip-ups at a push but that was all. Nor did he spill his guts to any old moron; he was better than that.

Hmmm...Jim was looking at him oddly... And was there supposed to be two of him?

"The old fail safe then? There's some of that power juice stuff in the kitchen and then go get some rest; you've got a lot of catching up to do. Also, I can't help noticing that yet again John Watson has survived what should have been a fatal encounter; any particular reason or was it because you're just trying to hide any weakness?"

"I'm fine." He certainly didn't sound it and Sebastian was fairly certain by this point that were he to release his death grip on the door frame, he would be finding himself with a sudden close up of the floor. Okay, pride be damned; he _was _ill and if he wanted to retain at least an ounce of his dignity, he was going to have to say something because at the moment his options were sit down or fall down.

"Jim..."

"Hmmm?" There was a sudden beep and Jim whipped out his phone in interest, holding up a stop the press hand. "Hang on; let me get this."

"_Jim._ I...I think I need your help."

"_Sebastian._ Shush; I said let me get this!"

"Jim;_ please..._" Okay, the ground was tipping beneath his feet; his limbs shook with feverish chills. He groaned suddenly and curled in on himself, hating how weak it made him look but there was nothing he could do other than repeat his boss's name over and over in the hope that Jim would somehow take pity on him. Or maybe he'd just leave Seb to suffer as he was doing so now.

At some point, his knees must have given way because suddenly the ceiling was so much further away and a blurry someone was kneeling at his side, shouting at him for being such a headstrong idiot. He ignored him and instead shut his eyes. He liked the darkness better anyway.

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**Next chapter should be up hopefully soon! Please drop a review and tell me what you think and if anything needs improved!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Howdy! How's life? ^-^ I have to admit, this chapter was one of the most difficult to write so far; it just wouldn't _flow! _But here it is and well, it's probably strangely worded and written and whatever but oh well. I have slid it out for sacrifice and there it shall stay (;**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed: XMillieX, Bewittching, Sherlock-in-the-TARDIS, dreambiggerdarlingAE (Sorry for misspelling your pen name; wasn't letting me put all the full stops in. I think it thought it was a web address) , P, Bonzananza and TSylvestrisA. As soon as I find the way, expect a delivery of cookies in your email =D**

**TSylvestrisA: Thanks for recommendation; I am downloading it as I type this! Here's to hoping it will like me better... As for the opening confusion, I'm confused too. I thought I'd mentioned that he stopped to talk to cabbie but obviously not /: Whoops! I'll need to go back and fix it; thanks for pointing it out!**

**Anyways, onwards with the chapter! (and apologies for any strangeness, weirdness and general OCCness!)**

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There was warmth in his darkness; warmth, hard springs beneath his back and something catching on hishand. And the _voices. _They just wouldn't leave him alone and allow him to sleep; they were like vultures shrieking in his ear. Briefly, he wondered where his rifle was, how quickly he'd manage to shoot the infernal buggers... That thing on his hand was getting really irritating; with a noise of complaint, his left-hand reached over to tug at the source of annoyance, fingers closing round what felt like plastic tubing. Almost immediately, the offending limb was swatted away.

"Leave it alone, Sebastian; it's there for a reason." The voice was both familiar and commanding but Sebastian Moran had never been one for following orders. There was a reason behind that dishonourable discharge...

"Annoying." He muttered, continuing his attempts to pull the thing out only to be stopped yet again."Bugging me."

"I know but leave it in. You're ill enough as it." The voice is definitely familiar but he still can't place it; after all it's not like the sort of people he associates with are not the type of people to sit at his bedside. He only had acquaintances; acquaintances and Jim. He wonders if he really is in a hospital as he is beginning to suspect or if Jim merely brought in one of the numerous doctors he no doubt has on his payroll. Hell, knowing his luck, Jim probably tossed him out into the street for passers-by to find after that shocking display of weakness. Collapsing face down on the carpet; what great impressions he makes.

He's too tired for all of this shit, too tired even to open his eyes. Leaving the tube (canula, the part of his mind that wasn't semi-conscious supplied) in place, he buried his head in the pillow and shut out the world.

~~~ linebreak ~~~

Seb didn't know how long it had been since he had last been conscious but what he did know was that it hadn't been long enough. Unless coffee was on offer, bed was where he was staying, regardless of the grumbling complaints his ego was giving him. He was quite comfortable here, wherever 'here' might be, and it had been a while since he had been given any opportunity to tell relax...

Someone was watching him. Sebastian almost cursed at how long it took him to realise this fact but considering last time he hadn't even registered this mysterious person's presence until they spoke, he viewed this as a vast improvement.

The person gave a hum of interest, leaning over Seb if the shadow passing over his with eyelids was anything to go by.

"Good evening Sebastian; have a good sleep?" the person, a man with the slightest hint of an accent and atone that was all too familiar but entirely impossible, asked. "You certainly managed to put a stop to my plans for the weekend."

Sebastian decided in that instance that he was almost definitely hallucinating because there was no chance that _that _man would have done anything of the sort if it was indeed who he thought it was. The sniper knew fine well where he came on the list of priorities and it certainly was nowhere near the top. If anything, he was right at the bottom.

_"_Sebby, I know when you're awake. God knows I've pulled you out of bed often enough.

Hallucination; he was 100% sure. That didn't stop him from mumbling out a reply.

"Stupid times in the morning." Sebastian whispered, his throat achingly dry. He didn't open his eyes; it was one thing to _know _what you were hearing was in your imagination and another to see it for yourself. There was a chuckle. "I don't pay you to slack off. Or to lie about in hospital beds."This last part was said rather pointedly and Seb felt his lips tug into a small smile without his consent. Still, his eyes remained shut.

"I'm cold." he declared finally, pulling the sheets closer around himself. It wasn't a complete lie; he was, in fact, shivering. If this was a hallucination then he might as well milk it for all it was worth. At the very least he might be mumbling aloud and someone would take pity on him and throw another blanket over him.

His mind conjured up something much more unexpected.

Suddenly someone sat down on the edge of the bed, pushing his shoulder and ordering him to scoot over. The sniper obliged, feeling the tubing tug at the back of his hand, and settled back onto the pillows, hating their rough scratchy feel against his cheek. Jim would call him a woman for such a thought...Warm arms circled around his torso; a small lithe body moulded itself against his chest and a whiff of Cologne that he associated with only one man reached his nostrils. That was when it struck him that this was no dream.

"Warmer?" Jim asked in amusement, his breath tickling Sebastian's neck. A slow finger traced along the curve of his jaw and at long last the blonde haired man opened his eyes to meet those of his boss, staring in complete and utter shock.

"What...? But I thought..."

Jim's smile grew more crooked, chocolate brown orbs sparkling in silent laughter. "And finally, you're back in the land of the living! Honestly, the amount of time you've spent rambling utter nonsense; I was worried I was going to have to find myself a new sniper and do you know how tedious that would be? Everyone else is just so_ dull_." Jim was making no move to let go of Sebastian and the taller man certainly wasn't complaining, instead cuddling in closer and burying his head into Jim's shirt, an act which under normal circumstances would have resulted in a major blowout that probably would have resulted in several deaths and at least one explosion. Jim _hated _having his clothes messed with.

"I'm glad you're so comfortable in your masculinity." the psychopath deadpanned, _still _not letting go."First you play at being suffragette, now you're snuggling. You'd better not be going soft on me."

"You started it, therefore I will snuggle all I want. How many days has it been?" Now that he was fully awake, coherency beyond basic sentences was making a speedy comeback.

"A few days." Jim answered dismissively, carding his fingers through the sniper's messy hair."Apparently flu, dehydration and exhaustion are not supposed to mix. You were so out of it for the first day or so, you made asylum patients look sane." He was giggling now, little snorts of hilarity before suddenly growing serious.

"Don't ever do anything like that to me again, Sebby."

And then he was on his feet and out the door like nothing had ever happened, leaving Sebastian to stare after him in confusion and wonder what on earth had just happened.

**And tuh-dah; we have reached the end of chapter 4! Hope it wasn't too bad and I should have the next chapter out soon, after this one has snuck away from the sacrificial alter...**

**Reviews and con-crit = happy authors who write more angst and hurt/comfort before rounding it off with a good helping of fluff! (;**


	5. Chapter 5

**Howdy guys;sorry for not updating for a while! Got a heap of exams at the moment, urghh -_- They're like wolves; they come at you in a pack ;) Anyways, thank you to XMillieX, fiona, JimmyHouse, Sherlock-in-the-TARDIS, dreambiggerdarlingAE, Rai Twist, too lazy to log in and ambu gurl for reviewing the last chapter!**

**Afraid to say this one is more of a filler but hopefully it's half decent ^-^**

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Against the advice of at least three different doctors, Sebastian discharged himself thevery next day, deciding he had been off his feet for long enough. Jim hadn't reappearedsince his rather..._confusing_visit yesterday so he took that as another hint that he was topull his finger out of his arse and get his act together. In short, everything was back tonormal then.

Amidst a flurry of eye rolls and exasperated mutterings about headstrong idiots,Sebastian left the hospital, not really caring exactly where he was going, only that hewasn't quite in the mood for facing his psychopathic boss just yet. Maybe he'd go grab acoffee, sit and watch the crowds for an hour or so in whichever crappy coffee shop hestumbled across. Maybe he'd go and see that morgue attendant friend of Jim's, Molly orwhatever her name was. She understood how he felt, even if Jim looked down on theboth of them for what he termed their 'idiotic touchy feely sessions'.

Yes, he decided. He'd go and pay Molly a visit. Screw Jim; he'd had enough of hisgames.

~~~ linebreak ~~~

The morgue technician was only slightly surprised to see him, babbling away amicably as she offered tomake him a cup of tea and asked if he would like some home made biscuits, all the while tinkering aboutwith a microscope. She certainly was one of a kind, no matter what Jim thought of her or how derogatoryhe spoke of her.

"You look bad." she informed Sebastian, setting down a chipped mug in front of him and sliding into achair before wincing. "Sorry, that came out wrong. I don't mean that in a 'you're ugly' way; I mean youlook ill. You're all clammy looking and your hair's a bit...greasy." She tailed off awkwardly, handsmaking strange gestures in the air before returning to her own cup of hot chocolate whilst Sebastianhimself ran a hand self consciously through his blonde locks, finding too his horror that Molly was,indeed, correct.

"I'm fine, thanks." he declared to cover his embarrassment and taking a hasty slug of tea, spilling somedown his front as a result. Molly giggled at his expense before suddenly sitting up straighter, listeningintently.

"Down!" she whispered, frantically motioning at him to duck beneath the table before eventually justpushing him down herself.

"_Ow!_" Seb exclaimed, rubbing the top of his head where it had glanced off the table.

Molly kicked him and he got the message.

Legs strode into view, the first pair moving purposely towards the counter whilst the other slouched inafter, holding a resigned air about them. Low voices murmured in the background and he saw Molly biteher lip, giving a nervous little wave.

"Hi Sherlock." she trilled and Sebastian mentally cursed. Great, just what he needs. The freak will findhim, drag him back into custody and then Jim really would kill him. There had to be_something_he coulduse as a temporary disguise... Molly's elbow moved; a scarf cascaded to the ground, closely followed by abobble hat. Smart girl; he snatched them up, not caring about the floral pattern or magenta colour, justshoving the hat down over his shock of blonde hair and looping the scarf quickly around his neck. A pairof glasses joined him soon after.

Abruptly he froze as one of the two men, Watson he assumed, wandered over to the table, mumbling agreeting to Molly. Then a puzzled face came into view, staring at him curiously.

"Is there any particular reason you're under the table?" John asked amicably, clearly not recognising him.

Seb allowed a flush to sweep his face, slowly coiling upwards and shunting the glasses up his face. "Thought you were my boss," he shrugged, sliding back onto his chair in a nervous manner. ", Also, he scares me." He jerked a finger in Sherlock's direction, the detective not so much as stirring at the reference whilst his companion chuckled.

"Yeah, I think he has that effect on most people; I wouldn't take anything he says to heart." John waved Molly's offer of tea but accepted a rather charred cookie, albeit warily, and extended a hand. "John Watson." he declared, shaking Sebastian's hand vigourously.

"Callum Ferguson." the sniper answered, doing his best to appear overall meek. "IT specialist." If it had worked for Jim."

"You're not a psychopathic consulting criminal by any chance?" was the next question fired his way just as he took a sip of tea and promptly spat it all over himself.

"_What?_ Uh...I don't think so?" This was...worrying.

John laughed and winked at Molly. "Just an inside joke; don't panic!"

"Ah...er..." He tailed off, biting his lip and wondered what Jim would think of his acting. Probably...No, he was done moping and also done with talking. "Er, I'll just be going. Thanks for the tea, Molly."

She smiled at him whilst silently mouthing for him to return her things later on and he turned on his heel, intending to head for the door only to walk. Straight. Into. Sherlock.

Well, this was going to be interesting.

The detective began by looking down his nose at him, one corner of his lip curling.

"Gay," he finally declared, continuing to survey Sebastian, ", or possibly just meterosexual. Used to using your hands, fairly fit and in a bad relationship. Just out of hospital having been in for something reasonably serious, here visiting..."

"I'm single." Sebastian stopped the detective before he could say anymore, returning his look of disdain. "And actually, I'm bisexual." Never had he taken such pleasure in proving someone wrong and the expression on Holmes' face was particularly satisfying. With a grin, Seb pushed past his enemy and walked confidently out of the door, unable to disguise his satisfaction whilst behind him, John told Sherlock off.

"What did I say about doing that? And how did you know it all anyway?"

"It was obvious by the way he held himself alone, never mind is outfit which was almost pristine despite being several days old at least. There's bruising on the back of his right hand; obviously from a canula so hospital visit. Hair is unwashed and there are dark shadows under his eyes so a _long _hospital visit, possibly several days at least. Something lung related perhaps; he was wheezing slightly. And as for the bad relationship, his sleeves had rode up slightly revealing bruising around his wrists; someone grasping him to stop him from leaving... John?"

"I just need to go and check something; I won't be long."

Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps behind him and the doors closing, someone jogging to catch up. John Watson fell into step with him, smirking slightly.

"I told you you'd end up in the hospital." He said matter of fact, hands thrust into his pockets. Sebastian jerked to a stop, gazing at the ex soldier in shock and only managing an eloquent splutter.

"Knew I recognised you from somewhere; Sherlock only confirmed that. So what was it you did to annoy Mycroft then?" John continued conversationally before noting a look of resignment flash across the other man's face and adding, "Don't worry; I'm not going to say anything. If you're out on the streets then that's one more thing to keep Sherlock amused, eh?"

"Let's just say I existed." Sebastian finally said slowly, not too sure what to think. John nodded and the two men fell into a comfortable silence, walking side by side. Every so often, the sniper shot his impromptu companion a glance, trying to work out his hidden agenda. It seemed he had none but there was something else on his mind.

"How do you do?" he burst out with abruptly. "How do you put up with him treating you the way he does and still love him?"

"I'm sorry; _what?_"

"I've seen the way you look at Holmes; it doesn't take a genius to work things out."

Once again, John only looked confused. "I really don't know what you're talking about." He replied and Sebastian gave a chuckle as they reached the doors.

"Of course you don't; never mind. I'd say see you around but considering our positions, that probably wouldn't work out very well."

Then he was out of the doors and away into, leaving a doubtful doctor behind him who was quite clearly reconsidering his feelings. Funny; it was normally Jim who was responsible for people questioning their sexuality.

Speaking of Jim, his phone suddenly trilled that irritating tone Jim had set for whenever one of his own texts arrived and he whipped it out, sighing when he saw the content.

-_You'd better not be sitting catching a chill again because if you are, there will be trouble. Now get your backside home; there's something we need to discuss. ~JM –_

That was his afternoon plans (if he had had any) screwed. Well, at the very least he'd get a shower.

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**So, any good? Thoughts and con-crit are much appreciated!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Howdy everyone! Sorry for the long delay on this chapter; I've been busy with exams among other things. Thank you to everyone who favourite-d or story-alerted and special thanks to XMillieX, TSylvestrisA, too lazy to log in, amba gurl, , P, EmmaWood123 and Rai Twist for reviewing!**

**Anyway. enjoy!**

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Other than a soft rhythmic thumping, the flat was quiet as Sebastian entered, the door closing behind him with a soft click. For once, the place seemed to be in order rather than the characteristic bombsite that it usually resembled. Of Jim, there was no sign.

"Jim?" Sebastian called, moving silently through the hallway towards the living room from which that one repetitive sound originated. "Jim, you here?"

The only response was a small sigh followed by a particularly violent thump, after which something crashed to the ground in an explosion of breaking china. The sniper dived through to find a vase – one he recognised as being a stolen Ming Dynasty (Jim had a thing for collecting art) – and the psychopath himself slumped on the sofa, staring in boredom at a smiley face painted onto the wall (Jim's other obsession – Sherlock). A dirty yellow bouncy ball lay among the shards of fine porcelain.

Somewhere, a museum curator was weeping uncontrollably with no idea why.

"You wanted me, boss?" Sebastian spoke stiffly, his posture poker straight as he tried not to look like all he wanted to do was throw himself into the shower then find the nearest bed and collapse onto it. Who knew hospital stays could be so _draining?_ Jim looked up, lips curling into an expression of disgust.

"Urghh. Please, Sebby, go and clean yourself up. You look an absolute state."

Well, that was typical and so utterly predictable, reminding him of just why it was so foolish to fall in love with a consulting criminal. The blonde didn't so much protest though as he swept out of the room without another a word, trying not to think about the greasy slick that currently passed for his hair or of the layer of grime that seemed to be clinging to his skin, instead thinking only of cleaning himself up. He could already feel the lather of soap. Maybe for the hell of it he 'd use some of Jim's swanky shower gel that he was always being told explicitly not to use… Yeah, he'd do that.

He had gone past the point of caring.

~~~linebreak~~~

The shower was just as heavenly as he'd imagined, at least up until he started thinking. With eddies of water swirling languidly past his feet as they coiled towards the plughole and the delicate scent of orchids hanging in the steamy air (Jim's fault of course; he did so like flowers), Sebastian found his thoughts wondering down paths he wanted only to avoid. Like wondering what Jim would actually do if he were to kiss him or whether it would be more prudent just to walk out. Ha, as if he could ever do _that_. No one walked out on Jim Moriarty; you either stayed or you were dismissed and wound up just another nameless body with a gunshot wound in the back of your head.

With a quiet growl, he punched the tiles angrily, an action that resulted in nothing more than bruised knuckles. Just like his situation, he observed bitterly. Whatever decision he made, he wouldn't win.

It was an epiphany moment. He was already playing with fire, Sebastian realised. He was already burning his fingers so where was the harm in diving further into the inferno? There wasn't any, he realised. There wasn't anything to stop him.

In that moment, his smile was a reflection of a madness that would scare even the great Jim Moriarty himself.

~~~linebreak~~~

"Sebby."

…

"Seb."

…

"Sebastian!"

The man in question just kept on walking and at long last, Jim found the energy to peel himself away from his horizontal position on the sofa and stalk out into the hallway to where his sniper was shrugging on a leather jacket, crossing his hands and raising an eyebrow.

"Just where do you think you're going?"

"Out," was the answering grunt. Keys were thrust into pockets, followed by a mobile and a wallet. Surprisingly, Seb's handgun was left where it was, looking out of place amongst the piles of letters and credit cards.

"I gathered that. I take it you've just stopped listening to everything I tell you then? Because that's the impression I'm getting from your last little failure and the entire fiasco that followed. Do we need to indulge in some disciplinary practices again?"

The blonde man (hair now clean again, thank god) tilted his head to one side, chewing on his lip as if actually considering the option. "I don't think so," he replied before a massive grin (one that looked far too unhinged to belong on the face of the normally stoic sniper) split his face in two and he leaned in closer. "I think we're just fine," he whispered directly into the psychopath's ear and then a pair of lips were on Jim's, taking him completely by surprise and sending him stumbling backwards.

"What the fuck, Seb?" he demanded but the only response was the slam of the front door.

~~~linebreak~~~

As expected, Sebastian's mobile started trilling within minutes of his exit, steadily increasing in volume before cutting off completely and beginning to beep repetitively instead as the barrage of texts from Jim streamed in. He ignored them. Let Jim wonder, he decided. Let him work things out for himself.

Now where to go? What place would annoy Jim the most? And more importantly, which person would annoy Jim the most? The shit-eating grin came back. Who else? Maybe things could work.

~~~linebreak~~~

John Watson sighed as he trudged down the stairs, having been told by Mrs. Hudson that there was a 'very nice man looking for you, John'. He wondered if the' very nice man' was by any chance another reporter hoping to bribe him into dishing out the dirt on Sherlock.

"Look, I'm not going to…" He stopped, staring in surprise at the man who he thought he'd seen the last of standing on his doorstep.

"Hi," Sebastian Moran grinned, looking a darn sight better than he had when John had seen him earlier. "Want to go out?"

John gaped. "I'm sorry, _what?"_

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__**Feedback and critique are much appreciated and welcomed; next chapter should be up soon!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Heya guys! And I'm back already, having finally managed to get this chapter written in between cooking, art and accidentally gassing the house with chilli aroma whilst dry frying chilli flakes... Though this is more of a filler chapter to provide some comic relief because things are most likely gonna get darker and more angsty...**

**Thank you again to everyone who has favourited or story alerted this; special thanks to Falt, TSylvestrisA, DreamBiggerDarlingAE, ZoomZoom, SimonBellamyismySpiritAnimal, Failed to De-anon, anon, amba gurl and eight 0f hearts for reviewing!**

**And onwards with the story!**

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John Watson wasn't entirely sure what heinous act he had committed to warrant his current situation but it must have been so far past the borders of forgiveness that it was nearing the other side. Or perhaps this was Sherlock's method of #taking # revenge on him for interfering with his experiments and was secretly paying the apparent criminal to stalk him (John was incredibly tolerant but even he had to put his foot down at a experiment involving finding out whether different iris coloration meant eyeballs would melt at different temperatures. Sherlock said it was for the good of science; John reckoned it was just to annoy him). He wondered whether it should be considered a low point in flatmate relationships when that option actually seemed the most plausible.

Or, he decided as the man before continued to ramble on at a speed which put even if his at times irritating flatmate to shame, this was actually Moriarty's work and he was trying to talk John to death. That suggestion received a nod as well.

The man in question - a man who John had hoped not to see again and was most definitely dangerous - paused to take a surprisingly delicate sip of wine, savouring it silently before launching back into conversation with gusto. He certainly looked a lot better from when he had the last time the ex army doctor had laid eyes on him and had even had the grace to give him a name, and a real name at that.

Sebastian. He ran over it on his head, mentally fitting it to the tall blonde before him, attempting to build a better picture. Both name and appearance contrasted rather sharply with the floral aftershave or whatever it was the guy was wearing.

"Is there any particular reason you've dragged me out here or was it just for the hell of it?" The shorter of the two finally asked, picking thoughtfully at his meal. (he had to admit, he'd been surprised at where they were eating; who would have thought that he'd end up dining at one of London's most expensive restaurants with a criminal of all people).

At his question, Sebastian gave a shrug. "Why not?" he responded with smoothly and took an elegant bite of venison, savouring it slowly. "I'm already going to hell; might as well go all the way."

That was...nice; John was glad to know he was the next step on the pathway to damnation. Hmmmm... If he was the pathway then maybe Sherlock was damnation itself. It made sense.

But there was something else bugging John when he looked at the apparent criminal before him, something that he couldn't avoid no matter how much he tried to tell himself not to get involved or, better yet, to send a quiet text to Lestrade to come and pick the blonde up. It was a look in the man's eyes that was all too familiar because it was the look his sister had worn when her drinking had reached an all time bad; it was the look he himself had worn not long after being discharged from the army, when the screams of his comrades echoed in his head and his leg was still freshly aching. It was the look of a person who was one push away from taking a gun and swallowing a bullet. Well, either that or going bat-shit crazy and taking out a shopping centre or something similar.

He wondered what Sherlock would say if he brought what seemed to be his new friend home.

~~~linebreak~~~

"John,"

"Sherlock,"

"Would you like to explain what this man is doing on the sofa or should I start making assumptions?"

"Assume away; he needs a place to stay."

"Actually, I don't..." Sebastian began, having been watching the conversation like a spectator at a tennis match, but John cut him off before he could finish.

"It's just for tonight; he's a friend, Sherlock,"

At this the detective curled a lip before finally looking at Sebastian properly, calculating eyes running up his entire length.

"Associating with Molly's friends now, John? I'd be careful; you don't want your IQ dropping any lower than it already is,"

The ex-soldier could see that John Appreciation Day was in full swing.

"I'd watch yourself Sherlock, you're sounding like you care," John responded with before turning to Sebastian and rubbing his hands together. "Tea then?"

"Please,"

"Not you, Sherlock,"

Sebastian shrugged and gave a smile that looked more sickly than friendly. "Sure, why

not?"

Suddenly, his phone began to trill, the noise loud and obnoxious in the relative quiet of the apartment. He sighed upon reading the name coming up on the display; The King, as named by Jim himself. He didn't even think twice about cutting the call off.

"Anyone important?" John asked conversationally, shooting a warning glance at Sherlock as his flatmate opened his mouth to say something no doubt scathing. The blonde man shook his head.

"No, they can wait until tomorrow,"

"Oh for god's sake..." There was an intentionally loud sigh as Sherlock flounced out of the room, only pausing once to pass on his final instruction. "Try and keep it down; I need to think and there are some things I'd rather not hear."

Sebastian sincerely hoped that Jim did in fact have cameras in 221b as he'd claimed so often. That would certainly give something to choke on his tea over.

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**Next chapter should be up hopefully soon! Feel free to drop a review and tell me whether you liked this chapter or not and if there's anything I can improve.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Heya all. I'm getting back into the swing of regular updates (huzzah!); it may be something to do with the fact that the summer holidays are not far away! **

**Anyways, thank you to Sherlock-in-the-TARDIS, Can't be bothered to type, DreamBiggerDarlingAE, Mirabilem Electo, Natural Harmonia and sinner for reviewing and of course, thank you to everyone else who has story alerted, favourited or just simply read this story!**

**Enjoy!**

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Early morning found Sebastian Moran lying wide awake on the sofa of 221b Baker Street contemplating how he always seemed to find himself in the most complex of situations. Here he was, fraternizing with the enemy as Jim would put it, drinking their tea, eating their food, sleeping on the enemy's _couch _no less. Well, he supposed, to sleep on the couch you had to actually sleep in the first place because funnily enough, sleep hadn't come easily or at all. Nor had he touched the plate of buttered toast placed before him, mainly due to the fact that it had been _Sherlock bloody Holmes _that had placed it there and as nights of observation with Jim had told him, the detective barely ate himself, let alone cooked. Add to that the fact that the man had been shooting him death glares every time he walked past and there was not a hope in hell that Seb was touching that toast. It was probably poisoned with some undetectable yet undeniably harmful chemical or then again, maybe it was just some plain run of the mill substance which the detective would claim had been poured onto the bread as an experiment and then "accidentally" mixed up with the edible bread. And it was probably worrying how he had spent so much time pondering the many methods Holmes could kill him with a slice of bread but then again, that was what a night without sleep did to him.

When the bread began to fizz, he pushed it as far away as possible and tried to pretend that didn't just happen.

"Something wrong? The bread's not moldy again, is it?" John Watson asked, coming through with damp hair and the sort of fresh complexion only worn by those who actually enjoyed being up at ridiculously early times, Sebastian, despite assumptions, not being one of those people.

"No; I'm just not hungry," the sniper lied, still eyeing up his now smoking breakfast. John noticed and sighed, picking up the plate and lobbing the full thing into the bin.

"Sorry about that; Sherlock isn't exactly careful when it comes to leaving his experiments around, though by the looks of things it would have been hard _not _to notice something was up with it." This was said rather pointedly and Sebastian quickly set things straight, informing the man that it was Sherlock who had brought him the meal in the first place. John looked confused.

"Sherlock…? But he doesn't… Oh god, he did this on purpose; I am so sorry! I'll just…"

"Look," Seb interrupted with before the doctor could storm off to find his noticeably absent flat-mate and attempt to shout some remorse into him. ", it's alright; I understand. I've seen what jealousy can do before."

Now John really did look confused. "Jealous; why would Sherlock be jealous?"

Okay, Sebastian was beginning to see why Jim claimed everyone else in the world was blind. How could it not be obvious? "He's jealous because he thinks you're interested in me, like _romantically _interested, so he's trying to get rid of me."

In response, he received a blink. "I'm sorry but why would Sherlock be jealous if we were romantically involved?" the good doctor finally scoffed before blushing as he realised what he'd said. "Not that we are of course and anyway, I'm not interested in men in…in that way. Nope, women all the way for me!"

"I know bullshit when I see it; don't even bother. You agreed to come out with me after all and I wasn't exactly proposing a meal between friends."

"Yes but…I…It was…Fine, okay, I give in." John raised his hands in defeat and threw himself down onto the armchair, raising his hands up to rub his face before peering out between his fingers and moaning. "How are you so good at reading emotions? You're a criminal; you're supposed to be like Lex Luther and really not give a damn about anyone! For god's sake, don't ever get together with Sherlock; no one's privacy would ever be safe again…"

Now Sebastian was the one blinking in confusion. "I'm not that good," he replied softly, suddenly finding the carpet much more interesting. "I'm just the muscle; I'm not important." It was a phrase so well known to him that it simply flowed off his tongue without conscious thought. You tended to get like that when you were told it so often.

"I'm sorry but I have to disagree with that,"

For once, Sebastian was struck completely dumb, not a single wiseass comment springing to mind. How could someone actually think anything else of him? Especially when they actually knew what he was?

"Watson," the sniper growled. "Does the fact that I openly admit I'm a criminal offender not mean _anything _to you? _I shoot people for a living! _My boss thinks it's funny to play games in which real people are the pawns; I was kicked out of the army for misconduct that went far beyond your normal petty crimes. You want to know the truth? The first time you met me, I was being held for attempting to assassinate you. There you go; feeling pleased with yourself? You're showing concern for the man who was sent out to kill you. Satisfied that you've done your good deed for the week?"

And with that he was on his feet and heading for the door, any hopes of a reasonably good mood having flown out the window along with the every other relatively cheerful emotion. He didn't bother with shoes; probably wasn't going to need them anyway.

It was at that moment, Sebastian realised that he didn't really give a damn about what happened to him. And what's more, that thought didn't bother him in the slightest.

~~~linebreak~~~

John Watson gave his second sigh of the morning and wondered what he'd ever done to end up being elected Counselor for Criminals (failed with dishonours). Then he sighed again and wondered whether it would be wise to inform Lestrade that later on in the day there was going to an incident of some sort involving either a blonde man threatening suicide in some busy area of London, a blonde man threatening mass murder in some busy area of London or a really pissed off consulting criminal wreaking havoc.

He wondered whether it was a sign that Sherlock's special brand of insanity was catching when he realised that, despite everything the guy had done, he still liked Sebastian Moran.

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**What did you guys think? The next chapter is probably going to be pretty dark, or so I think, but who knows? This story is constantly reshaping itself in my head!**

**I'm now off to continue suffering with a cold; peace out!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Guess who's on a roll here? :D Do you wanna know a fun piece of trivia? I'd originally intended for Priorities to be an angst-leads-to-fluff oneshot except it then took on a mind of it's own and expanded into this. And also, I was never much of a Molly fan until I started writing this; now, I love her ^-^**

**I don't know how many of you watch South Park but my friend who is absolutely brilliant at making jewellery (she sells it to raise money for charity) says she's going to try and make me a necklace with Kenny on it! I think they could hear my squeals in China! :D**

**Anyway, random news out of the way, thank you to Catindahat, fionaaaa, Ohime, Natural Harmonia, TSylvestrisA, DreamBiggerDarlingAE and Failed to De-anon for leaving reviews and making this feeling-under-the-weather author happy!**

**Just to say, our darling Sebby may start to seem a little out of character in the beginning of this chapter, for reasons that will hopefully become apparent later on in it. Oh and Jim is being heartless and still hasn't made an appearance. **

**Enjoy!**

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Molly Hooper thought herself capable of coping with whatever the world could throw at her. She had survived discovering her apparent boyfriend was in fact a consulting criminal and that, what's more, she didn't even mind. She had plowed on despite the object of her affections continually insulting and publically rejecting her. She had managed just fine with always being the one in the background, despite all that she did for them. But this; Molly wasn't sure if she could cope with _this._

She had never seen someone cry the way Sebastian Moran cried. It wasn't loud nor was it dramatic; he simply sat there with the tears trickling slowly down his cheeks, staring unblinkingly at the faraway wall. And it scared her; it scared her because in all the time she had known him, she had never seen him cry, no matter what happened, no matter what Jim said or did. In that respect, he was one of the strongest men she knew yet it seemed something had finally broke the camel's back, though she knew not what it was. Nor did she know what to do. How were you supposed to comfort an experience sniper who worked on the wrong side of the law?

"Do you want anything?" Molly asked softly, mentally debating whether or not to risk resting a hand on Seb's shoulder. In reply she received a shake of the head and she sighed, slumping down into a chair opposite the blonde. "Look," she admitted, "I don't have a clue what to do or what's wrong? Is it Jim? Has he done something exceptionally stupid? Is it something else?" She edged her seat closer to the man, her hand creeping closer to his. "I can't… I can't help you if you won't talk."

There was silence then… "It's the whole bloody world, Molly. I don't know if I can take it anymore. It's just…" He suddenly threw his hands up in the air, slamming them back down onto the table quickly followed by his head. "I don't want to do this." He whispered, slowly looking up with red rimmed eyes. "I don't want to continue living like this…I don't want to feel like this!" And then his head was back down on the table and Molly knew that something was seriously wrong because Sebastian Moran _never _acted like this. Absent-mindedly, she wondered if criminals could get depression.

That was when she realised the truth.

"Sebastian, I know someone who can help." she whispered, standing up slowly as if dealing with an easily spooked animal and taking him by the shoulders. "We can go see them now if you want?"

He just looked at her with sad eyes. "What's the point, Molly? Everyone just keeps piling their expectations and their demands and every other bloody thing on me and I _don't want to do anymore! _I'm fed up of being a lapdog! Sebby do this, Sebby do that! I used to be the best in my game; now, even John bloody Watson feels pity for me!"

"Sebastian…"

"_No,_ Molly, you can't magically fix this!" And just like that, the sniper had gone from tears to full blown anger, jumping up from his seat and stalking back and forth like a caged animal. When she reached forward to stop him, he rounded on her. "Don't touch me!"

With that he stormed out the room and Molly was left wondering whether there was something in the air or whether that apparently innocent case of the flu and the few unwise decisions that followed it that had left Sebastian in the hospital had more to it than met the eye. Chewing her lip, she pulled out her mobile and stared at it, asking herself if she really wanted to make this call. Sure, Jim knew some of what had been going on; he had been round here complaining so many times that she'd lost count, though her favourite of them all was when he came round to bemoan the fact that Sebastian was showing more interest in an ex-army doctor whose only point of interest was the fact that he lived with Sherlock Holmes, but she was fairly certain that this latest development went beyond the emotional boundaries within which Jim could work.

Finally deciding that she could put it off no longer, she rather reluctantly dialled the number that shouldn't be so familiar to speak to the man she shouldn't be in contact with at all.

"Hi Jim!... Yeah, he was just here... We, uh, we need to talk about something... No, nothing like that... Yes, Toby's fine...Jim, will you just please let me speak!...Okay, what do you know about depression because I think Seb's got it."

~~~linebreak~~~

Sebastian walked through St. Bart's like a thunder storm in a bad mood, every person he encountered moving quickly out of his way. A few had the bravery to say hello, only to be glared into submission and beaten back with snarls. Or at least he was that way until he passed the drugs store; _then _he was all smiles.

"Excuse me darling but might I just say you're looking wonderful?" he all but purred to the young woman tending to the drugs who looked flustered yet rather flattered at his attention and no wonder, he thought deprecatingly. She wasn't exactly a looker; attention from _any _man would seem like a blessing. She didn't notice him silently palming a few boxes of drugs whilst she was distracted.

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**I think it's safe to say humour is going to be few and far between from now on as Sebastian seems to be set on a one way course of self destruction. Please leave a review to tell me what you think and if there is anything that should be improved!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Here we go guys; another chapter! And yet more angst! I'm still amazed at the response to this story; seriously guys, I want to come and hug you all. So thank you to everyone who is just taking the time to read this (:**

**Special thanks go to Mirabilem Electo, NaturalHarmonia, DreamBiggerDarlingAE, Sherlock-in-the-TARDIS, LogicAndWonderland, Failed to De-anon, Anylinde and qwertying for leaving reviews!**

**Hope everyone enjoys this chapter! And look! A new POV!**

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When you led a life of crime, things that would bother a normal person tended to go right over the top of your head. Not enough money to pay the rent? No problem; a little bit of blackmail goes a long way. Just been fired from your job? No problem; there are plenty of ways to ensure the bastard who sacked you goes out of business for good. Life bugging you in general? No problem; just come to good old Jim and he'll fix it for you. Permanently.

As a result, Jim Moriarty wasn't a man accustomed to worry. Nor was he used to feeling pain, empathy, love or concern or indeed any emotion beyond his usual three of anger, delight and self satisfaction and their accompanying variations. So of course it really irked him that one phone call from Molly Hooper had managed to stir up the beginnings of such emotions in him. Really, he had better things to do than chase his idiot of a sniper around London, no matter how determined Molly was to make him do so anyway. And since when had it become okay for Molly to call him anyway? She was only ever supposed to have been a tool in his otherwise grand scheme, little more than a means by which to get close to darling Sherlock, and now she had wormed his way into his life like…like a parasite. But he couldn't deny she had proved herself useful and, truth be told, he liked her.

Urghh. This was all so irritating.

Staring at his phone, he tossed it to the side and sighed, deciding that he had given Sebastian ample opportunity to answer. If the sniper was so determined to be a pain in the arse then let him continue; Jim didn't care. Nope, he had better things to do with his time. People to blackmail, a building or two that needed blowing up because their idiot owners hadn't yet seen his point, a scheme in the works that needed some final adjustments… Yup, he had plenty to keep him busy and not one of his plans required a grumpy blonde with a talent for guns.

Goddamnit; he was convincing no one here. _I swear to god, Sebastian, if I find you getting all cosy with Watson__ again, there shall be hell and more to pay. Forget turning you into shoes, I will make an entire outfit out of you!_

Surprise, surprise, it was raining when he stepped out of the admittedly opulent flat (not that it looked it from the outside – appearances could be _very _deceiving) and Jim added that to the list titled Reasons to kill Sebastian Moran, a list that was growing by the minute. So far it included doing a disappearance act in the first place, using the last of his Acorelle White Orchid shower gel and ending up in the hospital which hadn't been all too pleasant an experience. And now here he was – Jim Moriarty, the world's only consulting criminal – reduced to trudging the streets like a common mug because his sniper had _finally _learnt the act of avoiding his cameras.

He wondered whether Seb would make a nice pair of boots or whether it would more amusing to make him into brogues. Women liked brogues these days; maybe he could give a pair to Molly?

"Hey boss!"

Though slurred and slightly muffled, he knew that voice. And oh sweet lord, its owner was in so much trouble.

"Ah, Sebastian, would you care to explain where you've been?" He kept his tone deliberately light; no need to let it own just how bad the coming storm was. "Only, I had a job for you and, seeing as you weren't answering your calls, I had to bring someone else in. They did a sloppy job; a _very _sloppy job. I don't like sloppy jobs, Sebby."

"And I really don't care."

Well, that was…unexpected. "I'm sorry;_ what?"_At long last, Jim turned and got his first glimpse of the prodigal sniper. It's safe to say it's a shock and for a moment he wonders if what was apparently a bad case of the flu hasn't turned out to be something worse because seriously, Sebastian had been looking better than _this._ He didn't receive any reply to his question and so stepped forward, expression morphing into what he termed his "angry face".

Sebastian blinked as he swayed on his feet, looking around as if he had only just realised where he was. Standing there, with the light rain plastering his blonde locks to his head and just a flash of collarbone peeking out from under his rumpled white shirt, Jim could admit that his sniper was rather handsome and indeed passers-by were taking second glances, though that may have been something to do with the fact that, to put it simply, Sebastian looked like he was on something.

He blinked again and stared directly at Jim, tilting his head to the side.

"I don't care." He repeated, perfectly serious. "I really don't care about anything." And then he was all smiles again.

Jim rolled his eyes and decided not to think about the fact that he had just found the man quite literally wandering the streets, instead gingerly taking Seb by the shoulder and attempting to lead him back to the flat. Urghh, he could have been anywhere or have been doing anything for that matter... The blonde beside him didn't move, instead continuing to grin like a maniac.

"Hi Jim," he said and the consulting criminal suddenly felt like shooting someone or at least he would have if he was the sort of man to pick up a gun in the first place. He was more of a Semtex kind of guy.

"Sebastian, we have had the conversation about you, skinning and shoes, haven't we?" Jim asked patiently instead, mentally counting up to 10 in his head. Somewhere, somebody was going to suffer because of this incident. He had another go at forcing the man to move.

"Jim."

"_Jim."_

"_What, _Sebastian?" Jim demanded irritably, turning round with all the intentions of quite possibly slapping some sense into the blonde only to find himself having a close encounter with a pair of rough lips.

It was different response to those Jim was used to, that was for certain. Sebastian's lips moved against his own softly, one hand coming up to caress his cheek, and all Jim could do was stand there, frozen in absolute shock, neither reciprocating nor pulling away from the kiss. Distantly he was aware of several appreciative wolf whistles and upon feeling a blush begin to creep across his face, pushed the taller man away, wiping his lips with what he hoped was a look of disgust.

"Would you care to explain yourself?" he began coldly, only to stop as Sebastian's grin faded, a white pallor suddenly sweeping across his face.

Barely a sigh escaped the blonde as his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the ground.

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**Don't forget to leave a review and tell me what you think or if anything needs changing! It means a lot to me **


	11. Chapter 11

**Howdy guys! Can I just take another moment to thank you guys for being the best readers ever?**

**Shout-out to growling, Can't be bothered to sign in, Bookworm24601, TSylvestrisA, Ohime, DreamBiggerDarlingAE, NaturalHarmonia, JoanneLikesVolleyball, Mirabilem Electo and hissbiteyesgood for leaving reviews!**

**I don't know quite why yet but for some reason I'm in an awesome mood without any real reason but the the downside of this is it makes writing angst hard which equals a shorter than usual chapter ): **

**I hope you enjoy anyway (:**

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The first thing Jim found out after his sniper so kindly passed out on him was that Sebastian was light, ridiculously light. Oh, it didn't mean he wasn't still a dead weight in the consulting criminal's arms but he'd still expected him to weigh more than _this. _ And what the hell had he being doing anyway? Jim couldn't smell alcohol of any sort coming off the blond nor did he appear to be suffering from any form of illness again. At the very least he's giving what could pass as a response to Jim's slapping him across the cheek. Maybe Sherlock slipped him something when he was at Baker Street playing Happy Dates with Watson, in which case Jim had better start looking for a decent way of poisoning the man, regardless of how boring it would make the world if there was no smug consulting detective to play with. Besides, Sherly was smart; he'd manage to figure out whatever it was Jim poisoned him with.

"Hey, is your friend alright?" An unfamiliar voice distracted him from his thoughts on which substance would make the best poison and he looked up to see the expected Concerned Member of the Public peering at them curiously, one hand on his mobile. "Do you need an ambulance?"

Reminding himself that now was not the time to start throwing threats around like there was no tomorrow (because he was seriously in that mood by now), Jim instead turned on polite mode, otherwise known as Richard Brook, and smiled up at the man.

"No, I think we'll be alright. He's been out all night on the on the piss; had a little too much by the looks of things." Another disarming grin and the thing was in the bag, the mobile being slowly shoved back into its waiting pocket. Suddenly, a flash of recognition flashed across the other man's face.

"You're that actor off the TV, aren't you! Richard…oh, what is it? Richard Brook, that's the one! My youngest loves your stuff."

Oh great, an admiring 'fan'. Fortunately, before he could work out an appropriate reply, Sebastian finally roused and proved a welcome distraction with the most eloquent of noises known to mankind; the groan.

"Murgghhh…" One hazy blue eye flickered open followed by another and the sniper gazed up at them in confusion. "Wha…?" Then he slumped forward in Jim's arms and vomited across the pavement, falling limp once more. Only this time, he was perfectly still, skin waxy pale as he just hung there, resembling for all the world a fresh corpse. The psychopath wasn't even sure the blond was breathing and all of a sudden, all of his genius and claims that he cared for no one but himself deserted him.

Jim looked up. "About that ambulance," he began, words stumbling over each other in his haste to get them out. "I think we may actually need one."

~~~linebreak~~~

That was how Jim Moriarty found himself sitting in a hospital, once again having to pretend he was the actor Richard Brook and fending off all the people trying to get something resembling a conversation out of him. His right hand man was possibly dying, goddamnit! Couldn't they show a little respect? And another high point of sitting in silence was that it gave him time to think, time to consider just what was happening.

From what he'd been told, Seb had overdosed on something, though they weren't too sure what yet. And from what he knew of overdoses, the person who was overdosing in the first place was usually aware that they were doing so which meant that what they were doing was essentially committing suicide. And people who committed suicide were usually depressed about something or suffering from some sort of emotional imbalance; wasn't that the case? So, to Jim, that meant two things. One, Seb, _his _Seb, had tried to leave him in a manner that was permanent and two; he was depressed, angry or upset about something.

He mulled over that in his mind for a long time.

Sure, Jim admitted that he wasn't the best when it came to human emotions (honestly. how was he supposed to know that people didn't appreciate threats, blackmail or murder?) but even he would have thought that he would have been able to spot if something was up with his sniper. Only he apparently hadn't it and that distressed him for reasons he still couldn't fathom.

So instead, he distracted himself with the scenario of a world without Sebastian Moran and found himself always back in the same place; right here in this hospital. To put it simply, it was impossible; he couldn't imagine it. This was most definitely a new development, one that hadn't come about until John Watson got involved in the life of Sebastian Moran.

It was time Jim and John had a little chat.

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**I'm looking forward to writing Jim and John in a scene together (: So what did you think? Anything that needs improving?**


	12. Chapter 12

**Sorry for taking so long with this chapter, guys. Urghhh... John and his characterisation were refusing to co-operate; I've been writing Seb for too long! (; On the plus side though, I think this chapter is longer than the others ^-^**

**There could be some OCCness in this; as I say John was being difficult to write and then there's Seb who is throwing himself into depression with worrying enthusiasm... **

**Thank you to Ohime, TSylvestrisA, Mirabilem Electo, Aliens Made Of Jelly, DreamBiggerDarlingAE, Sucre Bebe, honeywell, Sherlock-in-the-TARDIS and Failed to De-anon. Also thank you to everyone who has story-alerted, favourited or just simply read this product of my over-active imagination. (:**

**Guys, we have a problem. Mycroft has disappeared and is refusing to come back to play his role in this story. All I have heard from him is a video clip of him laughing at me and things are getting to the point of desperation. Come back, Mycroft, come back!**

**Enjoy!**

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At St. Mary's Hospital, they were used to dealing with a lot of cases in the emergency department which varied from the most simplistic of injuries to the more complex matters of life and death itself. And when it came down to things, there really wasn't anything remotely special about the man who had just been brought in, having apparently overdosed on an unknown substance. Well, other than the fact that he had been lugged into A&E by none other than popular TV presenter Richard Brook and there was still a debate going on about whether the two were related, just close friends or something deeper. Nor was it that his condition was particularly life threatening; the man had done a good job of purging his stomach without any outside help and the only reason he was still here was for observation – well that and the fact that the case had all the classic signs of attempted suicide, meaning a trip to the psychiatrist for evaluation was in store for the guy.

Despite how depressingly mundane the man's situation was – according to Brook, his name was Jared Menzies - , there was still an aura about him which commanded the attention of any passers-by; a sort of hopeless despair that hang over him like a brume, clinging to his very clothes. Menzies lay prone, his toned body wrecked by violent shudders, long limbs pulled in tight against his torso as he stared unseeingly into the distance, barely noticing the various nurses coming over to check on him. The doctor on duty – one Dr. Thompson – noted how oddly vulnerable Menzies looked in his defensive position, locks of blond hair flopping across a face that was far too pale and pale grey eyes swimming with melancholy dissatisfaction at the world. Lying there on a hospital trolley in an out of the way corner of Accident & Emergency, the man, who must have been just short of 6 foot standing, looked so small, much like a young child attempting to shut out reality. Thompson wondered how old the patient was and just what had driven him to such drastic measures.

Of Brook, there was no sign; the presenter had disappeared almost as quickly as he had appeared, having left explicit instructions that the hospital take good care of Menzies, else there would be "severe consequences". In that moment, Dr. Thompson had gotten the impression that there was a lot more to Richard Brook than it initially seemed.

He sighed and continued to watch the man before motioning for a nearby nurse to join him.

"The patient in bed 16, the one brought in by Richard Brook,"

The nurse looked curious. "The TV presenter?"

"That's the one. But as I was saying; bed 16, keep an eye on him. I want regular half hour checks; I'm not going to take any risks with this one."

Richard Brook was definitely someone he didn't want to anger.

~~~linebreak~~~

As far as his days went, John Watson considered this one to be one of the more mundane ones. Okay, so there had been that incident with his impromptu guest from the night before performing a disappearance act and Sherlock had decided that now was the time to enter another week long sulk for reasons best known to himself but otherwise, it was a perfectly normal day. No cases, no criminals attempting to murder him, not even so much as a gunshot fired at the wall; hell, even the surgery is quiet which had resulted in John and whoever else felt like joining in indulging in a real life paper toss tournament. So far, he was losing spectacularly.

It was at that moment that the receptionist of the moment (they never seemed to last long; Sherlock had a habit of scaring them off) poked her head around the door to inform one "Dr. Watson" that there was "a rather agitated man" in the waiting room looking for him. Deciding that anything was better than his current attempts to stave off boredom, John stood up.

That was his first mistake.

His second was not paying close attention to his visitor before being forcibly dragged into an empty consultant's room, the door slamming behind him.

"I believe you may have broken something of mine," a familiar voice murmured into his ear and oh god, hadn't that bloody psychopath left them alone by now?

"You know, you'd better be planning to turn my murder into some elaborate mystery otherwise Sherlock won't be too pleased."

"Who said I was planning to murder you?"

"Seeing as that seemed to be your intention last time, I'm not taking any chances. Now can you please hurry up before I spoil your fun and die of boredom?"

There was a sigh and then Jim Moriarty moved into John's line of sight, throwing himself down onto a chair with an air of ungainly grace, flipping his mobile from one hand to the other. "My god, you people are so _thick." _He proclaimed, still not taking his attention away from his mobile. "I am not here to kill you; I am merely here to discuss something you did like a normal civilized person?"

John wondered whether he was imagining it or whether Moriarty really seemed to be on edge today. Well, more on edge than usual at any rate. Come to think of it, he also looked tired; tired and worn out, as if he was at the end of his tether (and that observation didn't exactly raise John's hopes) but he'd be damned if he was going to make any comment on that. He liked having his skin, thank you very much. So, instead, he settled for the obvious question. "Uh, what have I done?"

"You broke something important of mine and I'm here to find out just what you did so that I can punish you and darling Sherly accordingly."

John had a bad feeling already; where was a conveniently placed window or fire escape when you needed one? "I don't have a clue what you're talking about; is this another one of those cryptic riddle things you're so fond of?"

"Nope." All of a sudden, Moriarty's entire expression darkened and he leaned forward, eyes glimmering with purposeful intent. "Does the name 'Sebastian Moran' mean anything to you?"

John opened his mouth to say no, stopped, thought about it, a frown pulling at his lips. Moran… He had heard it before, of that he was sure. Moran… And then it came to him.

Afghanistan, about a year before the injury that would result in him being sent home; there had been a young man he had treated for shrapnel wounds. Tall with sandy blonde hair, he was in his early twenties, perhaps even younger, and with the sort of haunted look in his eye that John had seen in so many soldiers, himself included. Nothing really special about his appearance; it was the events surrounded the man that caused him to take up permanent residency in John's memory. No one knew exactly what had happened, the only knowledge that was certain being that out of a whole squadron, this man was the only one to come back after an ambush that took them completely by surprises. Rumours had been abound that someone was taking bribes from the enemy, that the attack had been planned all along, and that it was this man who was to blame for it. However, all John saw when he looked at him was a man who had just watched his friends die.

He had seen him once more after that incident and by then his eyes had hardened and there was a set to his jaw that spoke of someone who had just abruptly discovered that the world wasn't all sweetness and joy. John later learnt that Sebastian Moran had been quietly dismissed and sent back to Britain, the unfairly accused scapegoat in a case where there was evidence to condemn him. Looking back, he was kind of reminded of the Sebastian he had had in his flat earlier today… Oh.

"I really should have seen this coming, shouldn't I? Note to self, next time, consider the implications of bringing home a criminal before doing so."

Jim laughed. "You know what, Johnny boy? Despite everything my better judgment is telling me, I like you enough to say that I _might _let you live after all. Now why don't you tell me what you did to my sniper?" He lunged forward like a rabid dog, one hand curling into the fabric of John's jumper and all of a sudden it was possible to see the madman hiding behind that calm façade. John swallowed.

"I didn't do anything; he dragged me off to some restaurant, talked non-stop for several hours then spent the taxi ride back to the flat sobbing about something which I may or may not have misheard and am not going to mention because he begged me not to. The taxi driver threw us out, I was stopped three times by the police and threatened by several concerned members of the public who all who thought I had been in some way abusing your precious sniper. I think in this case, I am completely and utterly innocent. Oh, Sherlock tried to poison him with toast he had used in an experiment but other than that, nothing exciting happened. Does that answer your questions?"

The only reply was a huff of air and the slam of a door. John blinked. Well that was… Nope, strange didn't even begin to cover it. _You brought this on yourself, _he told himself sternly. _The moment you gave Sherlock your phone, you kissed goodbye to normality. _This thought was very quickly followed by _I think it would be wise to just forget mentioning this encounter to Sherlock._

His phone beeped at that moment.

MYCROFT SAYS MORIARTY MET WITH YOU; EXPLAIN – SH

"Oh for the love of god…"

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**I warn you now, the next chapter will probably involve fluff. My mind has been in fluff mode for ages and I have been cruelly denying it for the sake of this story's plot. I'm off now to work on another MorMor oneshot that has been bugging me for ages so over and out!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey guys! Sorry for the wait; I've been really busy these past few days and have only just managed to finish this chapter... at 3.20 in the morning -_- But anyway, Mycroft finally made his reappearance in this chapter (woo!) though the reasons why won't be explained until later ;D**

**I just want to take some time now to say that I've taken some liberties with Sebastian's character in this story, seeing as the BBC haven't seen fit to bring him in yet. In my head, he's younger than Jim by a few years (don't ask me why; he just sort of ended up that way). I really should have mentioned this sooner but being my usual self, forgot -_-**

**But anyway, big thank yous go to ChangingTheCircumstances, DreamBiggerDarlingAE, FullMoonPhoenixShadow, guests 1, 2 and 3, Mirabilem Electo, Failed to De-anon, Sucre Bebe, Sherlock-in-the-TARDIS and Catindahat for leaving reviews. Also thanks to every single reader who had bothered to give this crazy author's piece of Seb whump their time of day!**

***apologies for any nonsensical ramblings. Aforementioned author is possibly under the influence of sleep deprivation; for evidence of that fact, it took me 10 minutes to write the above author's note **

**Anyway, enjoy!**

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Jim Moriarty knew how to walk with confidence. He knew exactly the manner to move in that resulting in him getting whatever he was after, that earned him immediate respect from all in the room; he knew all the methods of manipulating and guilt tripping a person into following his orders to the smallest detail. So he would be damned if he was going to be defeated by some mean-well doctor thinking it best to keep him away from his own sniper.

"Sir, if you go and take a seat in the waiting room, we can get someone to come along and explain the situation to –"

"No, I understand the situation _perfectly," _Jim interrupted with, eyes stone cold and speaking tales of a future that was bleak, merciless and painful. "I don't _need _another goon trying to distract me with their silver tongued lies-"

"Ah but sir, the psychiatrists…" God but this man was tenacious; Jim had stopped listening properly ages ago, only picking out every second word or so. He made a note to later on pick up this doctor for a little 'chat', having stumbled across a few new techniques he fancied trying out. Maybe then he'd understand the true horror behind being kept waiting.

After allowing the doctor a few more minutes to jabber away in his smug little rant that seemed to have morphed into one about people who thought they knew better than the professionals, Jim decided to put an end to the fun and games, leaning forward and intruding on the a man's personal space, making for an intimidating sight.

"I don't need a psychiatrist to tell me what is wrong with my man," he hissed, noting the look of confusion that flashed across the doctor's face and sighing as he realised he was about to be quizzed over the meaning of the phrase 'my man'. _Darn… Seb, as soon as you are better, I am going to kill you myself without your assistance. _"I think I'd understand my own partner better than any over-qualified shrink."

Yep, Sebastian Moran was a dead man walking.

The doctor – one Dr. Michael Thompson if his badge was anything to go by – blinked at him, opening and closing his mouth in confusion before finally settling on his approach.

"Uh, we weren't aware you were, uh, involved…"

"So does that mean you will let me see him?" Because, you know, Jim was reaching the point where he was going to start making threats and Dr. I-Am-Superior-To-You wouldn't like him when he was threatening. Jim would _hate _to make a bad impression.

"Er, uh, right this way."

~~~linebreak~~~

When John entered the flat, having _finally _signed off on what – save the impromptu visit from Moriarty – must have been the most tedious shift he had been on, he immediately sensed that something was up, a feeling that was proven correct only seconds later when he entered the sitting room to discover…

"Oh hello Mycroft, what's he done this time?"

The older Holmes brother gave John a strained smile, motioning for him to sit down on the opposite sofa which John did, albeit grudgingly, loathe to being told what to do in his own home.

"There isn't anything to worry about; Sherlock and I were just having, let's say, a brotherly talk. Now how about some tea?"

Okay, firstly Mycroft making tea? Somehow, John couldn't see the composed politician lowering himself to such a level but brotherly talk? Now _that_ John found highly unlikely; Sherlock's opinion of brotherly talks was only slightly above his thoughts on Anderson and just below people who figured it was alright to guilt-trip him with mentions of the infamous Mummy Holmes, so it was with a wary mind that he approached the situation.

"Er do you mind if I make it myself? No offence intended but I've had some bad experiences involving tea made by members of your family." This was said with a very pointed look at Sherlock who was still in the exact same place he had been when John left for work that morning and Mycroft chuckled.

"None taken. If you really want to know, I wasn't intending to make some anyway; it just seemed polite to offer. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be going; I have a meeting with Dave that cannot be missed."

There was barely any pause between the end of that sentence and the click of the door, John standing confused in the doorway with the kettle he had just picked up in hand.

"Er, okay, I'll just pretend that was perfectly normal. Sherlock, tea?"

"Mmmm."

"And I wish that wasn't perfectly normal but unfortunately it is. So, how did your 'brotherly chat' go?"

That question wasn't even graced with a response, Sherlock instead turning his baleful gaze upon John and uncurling from his fetal position. There was something… _strange _in his eyes and suddenly John clicked as to what must have been bothering him because normally Sherlock just completely blanked him during one of his sulks.

"Ah, you're angry because Moriarty came after me, aren't you? Don't worry, he only wanted to moan. And complain that we'd broken something of his… Sherlock, you didn't try to poison Sebastian with anything else?"

That certainly got the detective's attention, causing the man to sit bolt upright and stare at John, suddenly letting out a curse.

"Knew it," he mumbled, throwing himself back onto the cushions and staring up at the ceiling with such fury that it was going to start smoking any moment now. "Gave him the benefit of the doubt because _you _brought him back but it was the sniper from the roof, wasn't it?"

He glanced at John for confirmation who merely stared back in confusion, now hanging onto the kettle like it were a lifeline.

"Er, he said he was a sniper… and I sort of knew he was a criminal." The last part was mumbled into his jumper, the doctor's eyes not quite meeting Sherlock's. Of course, he looked up seconds later when the detective's outraged cry echoed round the flat.

"_You __**knew!**_?"

Okay, John really didn't feel like explaining his admittedly questionable decisions, not after his earlier 'chat' with everybody's favourite psychopath, and there was only one road out he could see. He took it.

"Sherlock, are you jealous? Is that why you hated Sebastian so much, because you were jealous of him? Only, that's what everyone seems to be suggesting…"

Silence; complete and utter silence.

He had hit the nail on the head.

~~~linebreak~~~

Jim's first thought on seeing his sniper was on just how fragile he looked when he wasn't standing up or holding a gun. His second was on how stupid the aforementioned sniper was for landing himself here of his own volition. And his third, well his third was that no person should have eyes that looked as empty as Sebastian's did, the blond barely even registering Jim's presence. As soon as the consulting criminal was sure the doctor was out of sight, he threw himself down onto the single visitor's chair and stared, running a hand across his chin. Then he bit his lip, for once unsure what to say.

"Seb?"

"Mmmmm?" Well, at least he wasn't completely comatose which was a start and what Jim viewed as his cue to dive straight into the matter.

"Care to explain yourself? Aspirin, a cocktail of antidepressants which they don't know how you got ahold of, all mixed up with a bottle of vodka because that's what you do, isn't it? _Isn't it?" _He hadn't meant to shout, hadn't realised he was doing so until he stopped talking and realised Sebastian was staring at him in bleary eyed confusion.

"Do you really care?" the sniper whispered croakily, eyes sliding shut in a display of exhaustion, "Or are you just worried that you're going to have to…"

"Shush," Jim placed a silencing finger on the blond's lip before nudging at his shoulder and motioning for him to move. "Scoot over a bit, unless you want to see me on the floor and I will not be happy if that ends up happening."

Another look of confusion before Sebastian did as asked, movements lethargic and eyes wide as he watched Jim slide onto the bed in a very uncharacteristic motion. For several beats, they remained like that, Jim sitting up on one side, Seb lying on the other, and then the criminal spoke.

"Look, what I'm doing is embarrassing enough as it is and if I'm going to lose my dignity in such a manner, it's all or nothing so get back over here now!"

Silence reigned and Jim slumped back against the uncomfortable pillows, accepting that he must have an idiot for a right-hand man, before a sudden warm weight settled against his side, a shock of blond hair nestling close.

"Such a woman," Jim teased before morphing back into the reign of his serious face. "Now, reasons? Or am I just supposed to guess why my favourite sniper decided now was the time to attempt to _kill _himself?"

No reply, then… "What if someone sees us like this?" Sebastian's hoarse question wasn't quite the answer he was looking for but Jim was willing to let it go provided they had this conversation again in the near future.

"Don't worry your pretty little head; Dr. Smartarse wasn't going to tell me anything so I told him we were together instead."

Jim was taken by surprise at just how quickly Seb's mood turned after that revelation and not in a positive direction. The blond let out a half choked laugh, pulling all his limbs closer and huddling in on himself.

"Oh… Of course you would," he whispered and then the tears came, horrible silent sobs that Jim knew not how to deal with.

He was lost; he truly was.

* * *

**I know I promised fluff for this chapter... I'm sorry; my mind is still in angst mode! But thoughts?**


	14. Chapter 14

**And I'm back agai****n! I did actually manage to take a break from this angst-fest and write some Jim/Seb that wasn't all dark-depressing-moody angst (: and was pretty proud of myself for it and then I wrote this chapter and... Fluff happened! Well, it sort of happened... Well, at the very least nice stuff that wasn't all angst happened.**

**Anyway, thank you to DreamBiggerDarlingAE, Mirabilem Electo, You should see me with a bafta, Failed to De-anon, J.-J0HNN, Maddi Paige, Guest, JimmyHouse, FullMoonPhoenixShadow, ILoveMyIrishDarlings, Sherlock-in-the-TARDIS, Guest 2 and ChangingTheCircumstances for leaving reviews; also thank you to everyone who is simply reading this story (: Means a lot to me guys.**

**Anyway enjoy this chapter and the fact that I've been nice to our boys for once (:**

* * *

"Don't be stupid; why would I be jealous?" Sherlock scoffed, his refusal to meet John's eyes proving otherwise. He raised himself from the sofa, fingers clenching and unclenching, and began to stalk the length of the sitting room, the epitome of restless.

"I mean what is there to be jealous of; a false 'relationship' to which there is nothing but lies and pretence? Ha, as if! Jealousy is just some…"

"Sherlock, you _are _jealous; just admit it. You're human; there's no shame in feeling." The kettle bubbled and spat as John lifted it from its resting place and he rolled his eyes heavenwards, wandering what sort of chemicals had been slipped in without his noticing this time.

"I am _not! _ Jealousy is yet another of your oh so precious emotions that I am_ above!"_

"Liar," John retorted mildly, pouring the spitting water down the sink and reminding himself that he was supposed to check before sticking the kettle on next time. "So if you really are 'above emotions' as you are so fond of telling me then you won't mind if I go and see Sebastian again, will you?" No mention of the fact that something had obviously happened to Sebastian or the fact that John didn't have so much as a phone number from their encounters; that was all in the details, details that Sherlock didn't need to know.

He'd probably end up finding out anyway though.

"John, have you absolutely no sense of self-preservation whatsoever? That man is a _criminal; _a criminal who was sent to _kill you._ Does that not mean _anything _to you?"

"You know what? It does because _I'm still here; _he wasn't going to kill me in the first place!"

"And how do you know he wouldn't have if Mycroft hadn't spotted him?"

"Because he told me himself." Their voices were growing steadily louder, tempers quickly fraying in the blow-up of several days' worth of tension, and John could actually see each layer of Sherlock's composure deteriorating before his eyes. "Not everything's black and white, you know!"

"So you'll take a criminal's word over mine? Why John, I never thought we'd reach such a low point in trusting each other."

"_What? _I never said I was taking sides; there you go again! There is such a thing as grey; has it ever struck you that beneath it all, he might actually be quite a nice guy?"

"John, his name is Sebastian Moran; he was discharged from the army for misconduct and since then has been putting his considerable talent with firearms to good use. He is not some innocent lost soul looking for assistance; with the exception of Moriarty himself, he is quite possibly the most dangerous man in Britain, if not Europe."

John had to interrupt him there, still unable to believe that one of the smartest men he knew could be so obdurate in his thinking. "He was serving in Afghanistan when I was and was dismissed as a scapegoat for an offence he didn't commit due to lack of evidence to convict the real offender. The entire thing was hushed over because they didn't want it getting out that they couldn't find a traitor in their own midst. See; you don't know everything!" Words could never explain the satisfaction the doctor felt saying that.

At this Sherlock through his hands up in the air, grinding his teeth together audibly, forcing his words out syllable by painful syllable. "Why are you so _stubborn?"_

"Oh, says you; that's a fine example of the pot calling the kettle black!"

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

During the last few seconds, the two men had moved closer to each other, to the point where they would have been screaming in each other's faces had they been the same height. As it was both glared at each other before, all of a sudden, something in Sherlock's eyes changed. John barely even had time to drink before a pair of lips crashed against his, long pianist fingers clutching almost desperately at his neck.

Everything just… froze. John's mind tried and failed to wrap itself around the fact that he was being kissed by _Sherlock Holmes, _self proclaimed 'high-functioning sociopath', the man who sometimes forgot to eat and found socializing boring, before giving up completely and retreating to a quiet corner to attempt some breathing exercises.

Of course, as per usual the universe was still conspiring against John and it just happened to be that moment that Mrs Hudson bustled in to announce a few unwelcome visitors.

"Sherlock dear, there's a DI Lestrade here to... Oh my!" She halted in her tracks, a blush coating her cheeks as she took in the sight of her two tenants kissing before quickly backing out the room in order to try and delay what sounded like a small army thundering up the stairs. "Detective, perhaps you should wait a bit..."

Too late; what seemed like half of Scotland Yard stormed into the flat, fronted by Lestrade who was quite happily declaring this to be a "drugs bust" before doing a rather comical double take. There was silence which was finally broken by the detective inspector's even tone.

"Anderson, I owe you £10."

At that moment, John and Sherlock finally leapt apart and realised the situation they were in.

They didn't meet each other's eyes.

~~~linebreak~~~

Oh god; the emotional equivalent of the apocalypse was happening right here. Jim couldn't handle tears; never had been able to, no matter how much of a cruel emotionless machine he thought of himself as. He remembered that one time on set (yes; he did actually act) when one of the children had burst into tears and he hadn't a clue what to do, reduced to patting them on the back in what he hoped was a comforting manner whilst mentally panicking. Urghh... He hated kids, was still wondering why he thought it was a good idea to make his cover a children's presenter.

But this wasn't a five year old kid erupting into fountains of tears over a small seemingly insignificant event; this was Sebastian, fully grown Seb who knew his way around a gun in the same manner that a normal person knew their way around their mobile phone, dangerous brooding Seb who thought nothing of putting a bullet through a man's brain. Snipers weren't supposed to cry; snipers were supposed to be those calculating ruthless assassins, unmoved by any sort of emotion. Only, now that he looked at it, Sebastian never had been like that. Sebastian had always reacted in some small to each death, even when the person he was shooting undoubtedly deserved it, had always shown the slightest hint of guilt for his crimes though he quickly suppressed it. Jim supposed he should have been able to have seen this coming from a mile away, a lesson learnt in why he really shouldn't ignore warning signs.

Sebastian was still crying silently into Jim's side, head bowed down and limbs tucked in so that he looked smaller than he actually was, everything about his tall frame looking frighteningly fragile. Jim's brain immediately switched back to mental panic mode, running through every possible method he knew of comforting someone and drawing repetitive blanks which only served to increase his aforementioned panic. This was not going well.

At long last, the consulting criminal gave into basic instinct and looped his arms around his sniper in a rather awkward hug, pulling him close and, yes, patting him soothingly on the back. Truthfully, he didn't know what else to do.

But as Jim watched the snivelling mess that was his second in command, he remembered something; something which he had meant to confront Seb about but had never had the chance to with this ongoing fiasco. The day before, right before Sebastian embarked on his little trip down cuckoo crazy lane, the blond had kissed him, actually kissed him, Jim Moriarty. It had been rather disconcerting to say the least. But now, now as he watched, as he ran through all the apparently nonsensical comments the sniper had been dropping, as he mulled over the way Seb reacted every time Jim was touch him or show even the slightest hint of care, Jim's mind was reaching a conclusion he definitely had not expected. And the more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed.

"Sebby, you crazy bugger," Jim groaned, slumping back against the headboard. "I thought you liked women!"

When there was no reply, he sighed, realising that he was just going to have to test this theory of his out. Oh well, he had already told Dr. Smarmy that he and Seb were together; might as well go all the way, huh.

"Hey, Seb, look sharp,"

And before the blond could so much as open his mouth to ask what he meant, Jim had him by the lips.

He had a feeling he wasn't supposed to enjoy it so much.

* * *

**It is entirely possible the angst levels are falling...**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hey guys, sorry for the delay in posting this chapter but work has been a bitch and I've also recently changed laptops so I've of course been playing about with my new darling (touch screen; yay!) and figuring things out on it. I warn you, I have yet to read over this chapter so apologies for any OCCness. And those who are less fond of all the John/Sherlock stuff will be pleased to find that there is none of that in this chapter though it will definitely make a reappearance (: It was originally only supposed to be a background detail; a sort of side effect of all Seb's flirting but well, I liked John and Seb's friendship and Jealous Sherlock + Jim are fun to write :D**

**Thank you to ChangingTheCircumstances, FullMoonPhoenixShadow, ILoveMyIrishDarlings, Sherlock-in-the-TARDIS, Failed to De-anon, DreamBiggerDarlingAE, You should see me with a bafta, Guest, Joa Marie, raptoregg64, Sucre Bebe, Shylock, happy sappy perv and Tamachan247 for leaving reviews; another big thank you to all you readers out there bothering to give this story your time!**

**I really need to think of something else to say other than enjoy...**

**...**

**...**

**Ack, what the hell, enjoy!**

* * *

Sebastian was confused. No scrap that, he was completely and utterly bamboozled by what was currently happening, unable to believe that this really was _Jim _kissing him. It must be an hallucination, he told himself firmly, settling back into that blank state of existence that he had been floating in before his mind decided that what he really needed right now was to be taunted with images of that which he could not have. _Thank you mind; you are doing so well in your job of ensuring my continuing sanity._

The kiss ended abruptly, Jim – False Jim – pulling away to gaze at him in confusion, brow -wrinkled together in that familiar manner of his and Sebastian wondered why the sudden change in activity when surely if this was an hallucination it would continue? Only, now Jim was looking at strangely which was puzzling all by itself, one hand stretching forward to pat him hopefully on the cheek.

"Hello; Sebby? Anyone in there or did I just do that for nothing?"

"Where are we?" he whispered and Jim beamed.

"_Finally; _you're back in the land of the living! It was beginning to get rather boring with you just ignoring me. I don't like being ignored; you know that Seb."

"Jim, where are we?" Sebastian had a sinking sensation that he knew _exactly _where he was; he just didn't want to admit it just yet. _Failed again; how surprising. Why are you even still here?_

Jim grinned, only this wasn't his normal shit eating grin, this was crazen, a true madman's smile. "My dear, we just so happen to be at St. Mary's Hospital. You see, my best man decided that –"

Sebastian let out a little groan at this, knowing exactly where the conversation was going. _Oh god..._

"_-_ it was a brilliant idea to get himself plastered on a cocktail of unknown drugs, wash it down with a bottle of whisky and then proceed to stumble about London before collapsing. Does that sound familiar to you?"

"I wasn't thinking properly!" the sniper hurriedly interrupted with, gingerly stretching out each leg and wincing at the feverish ache spreading through them like wild fire. Come to think of it, his head was pounding something terrible as well. Huh, he really had drunk that bottle of whisky then though he wasn't too sure if it _had _been whisky so he was only taking Jim's word here.

"Oh really?" the criminal asked sarcastically, one eyebrow raised. "What gave you _that _idea? Now, are you capable of walking or would you rather stay here and play tiddlywinks with their pet psychiatrist?"

With a groan, Sebastian put all of his effort in sitting up to waste and slumped backwards, running a hand through his grimy hair. "Urghh; not again. I _hate _goddamn shrinks; they all seem to think it's their bloody right to tell you how to feel!"

"I'll take that as no then." Suddenly, all traces of caring Jim were gone and instead he was back in business mode, smooth and professional, if still slightly psychotic. "I'll fetch the smartarse and you can explain your reasoning to him,"

Sebastian merely groaned again and wished fervently that he was still away in lala land.

~~~linebreak~~~

"So what you're saying," Dr Michael Thompson began, surveying the patient before him before flicking back to his file, ", is that this wasn't a deliberate attempt to take your own life but merely an unfortunate accident?"

The man – Menzies – nodded absent-mindedly, continuing to rub at his temples. "I get a little...crazy when I drink," he explained, looking up with an honest gaze. "I don't know; I think I fell or something; maybe hit my arm? Anyway, from what I remember, I _think _went looking for painkillers for some reason or another; clearly I took the wrong thing." This time there was a disarming smile to go along with the apologetic eyes.

"I see." Thompson replied, not really seeing at all. It _seemed _to be genuine – after all, people all handled their alcohol differently - but then again, who knew? "I take it you don't drink often then?"

"Got it in one, doc."

"And it says here, you've been admitted for a similar incident before?"

This took Menzies aback; his gaze shot to the figure of Richard Brook – Richard Brook with his creepy smile and odd personality – and back to Thompson, eyes now riddled with guilt. Ah, one of _those _incidents, the sort that would most likely result in a marital spat of some shape or description. The answer when it came was mumbled.

"It was a friend's birthday; someone had spiked the drinks and believe me when I say I was completely and utterly out of my mind that time round. Wouldn't have been able to tell you my hand from my foot."

Brook's teeth ground together audibly.

"I'm prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt in the face of such evidence; I recommend drinking plenty of water and getting some more rest. Also, there is a possibility that there may be some lasting effects from the overdose which in the event of, I suggest contacting your GP."

Menzies was now looking hopeful. "Does this mean I'm free to go? No shrink?"

The doctor ummed at this. "As this has occurred before, my instincts are telling me to refer you to a specialist in substance abuse; however, seeing as this was not a suicide attempt nor do you appear to be displaying any suicidal tendencies, there is little I can do to reinforce the matter. So yes, no shrinks."

And there it was, another thankful smile which nearly prompted Thompson to overturn his decision and reclassify this as attempted suicide. But Menzies was already on his feet, Brook hurrying over to support him when he stumbled slightly, and the pair were smiling at him, Brook extending one elegant hand.

"Thank you for your time, doctor; with any luck this won't happen again. Believe me when I say Jared and I are going to be having a _very _long talk about responsible drinking when we get home."

And with that they were gone, striding out through the doors. Dr Thompson could sworn though that he saw Brook lean forward and whisper clearly into Menzies' ear,

"I'm not joking Sebby; you and I need to have a serious chat."

* * *

**I admit to having no clue on hospital procedure for such a situation as above so I improvised.**

**No promises for when the next chapter will be up; hopefully soon!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Howdy guys; I'm back with Chapter 16 ready to roll! Little bit... okay a lot bit more John and Sherlock in this chapter; I actually wrote in Sherlock's POV as well! I warn you though, John simply refused to cooperate and has probably ended up very OCC as a result /:**

**My penname is bugging me; well, bugging me more than usual so I don't know, I may or may not be changing it. I'm not joking; it's glaring at me from its place in the top righthand corner and just... _irritating _me ):**

**Anyhoos, I just want to say thank you to everyone who has taken the time to leave a review on this because there are seriously no words out there to describe how it makes me feel reading all the kind things you say. I'm just so glad you're all enjoying this! ^-^ **

**raptoregg64, ChangingTheCircumstances, TSylvestrisA, Mirabilem Electo, RandomlyRandomGirl, Failed to De-anon, FullMoonPhoenixShadow, DreamBiggerDarlingAE, Sucre Bebe, You should see me with a bafta, Sherlock-in-the-TARDIS; thank you all so much for your lovely reviews!**

**And onwards with the chapter!**

* * *

John was a firm friend of the awkward situation, so much so that he's fairly sure they must be on first name terms by this point. For starters, there are the numerous times he's walked in on Harry and one of her... conquests, not to mention those encounters where she's asked him teasingly if he wanted to join in. And urghh, the thought made him shudder because this was his _sister _and there were some things siblings just weren't supposed to do together, even if her bed partners were often rather... desirable.

Of course he had become even more acquainted with those situations since moving in with Sherlock, what with the amount of people mistaking them for a couple and all. It certainly wasn't helped by the detective's complete lack of concern at this. It was only now that this had started making sense.

But for all the embarrassment John had suffered through at the hands of his family and flatmate, this one took the biscuit. Whilst what seemed to be half of New Scotland Yard paraded through the flat in their search for 'drugs', John and Sherlock sat at opposite ends of the couch, neither meeting each other's eyes as they fidgeted nervously. Donovan was smirking, Lestrade was still grumbling about being down £10 and as for Anderson, well, he had to leave the room after being unable to stop laughing every time he glanced at the two men on the sofa. It seemed that a lot of people owed him a fair amount of money, his boss only one of the many.

John sighed, knowing that by tonight the story would probably be halfway around London and then some. They were going to be having fun sorting this out later.

~~~linebreak~~~

Mycroft Holmes looked up from his paperwork at the beep of his phone, pulling the device towards him with something akin to boredom. A smile graced his lips and he turned to where his assistant sat, politely coughing to draw her away from her Blackberry.

"I do believe I was correct," he told her good-humouredly and passed her the phone, watching as the barely noticeable lift in her eyebrow as she took in the news.

"How much was it again?" she finally asked.

~~~linebreak~~~

They made an interesting sight stumbling out of the A&E Jim decided as he nudged Sebastian back into full awareness and attempted to keep it that way until they could reach the waiting car. He wondered if this was how normal people felt on a daily basis, this sense of things being out of control, of everything being a complete and utter mystery. That was how he felt with his sniper right now; he didn't understand what was going on or why – he couldn't even predict the man's moods like he used to. Normally, Jim _loved _unpredictability - it tore down the boredom that would otherwise kill him there and then, well him or a _lot _of other people who may or may not be innocent – but _this_, this wasn't right. He most definitely did not like this.

Fortunately, Sebastian required to no prompting to get into the car, instead sort of folding himself into the backseat and curling up beside the window, forehead pressed against the glass. He looked pathetic, like a wounded animal, all trembling limbs and dulled eyes, barely able to support himself. Once again, Jim was struck by how odd this was to see such a highly skilled man so capable of defending himself reduced to this state simply because the one thing that he couldn't defeat – his own mind- had finally gotten the better of him. Briefly, he wondered if he could attempt to recreate the same thing with Sherlock but quickly banished the thought under the grounds that pet Watson would interfere.

"You know where to go," the consulting criminal instructed the driver dismissively and settled back for the ride.

~~~linebreak~~~

At last, those bumbling buffoons had left, having realised that Sherlock had in fact been telling the truth all along in that he _was not _keeping any evidence from them. But why would they listen? That would mean showing signs of intelligence, something that everyone knew Anderson was most definitely not capable of, even if he had managed to empty everyone's pockets through good guesswork. But that had been a fluke and that was all; besides, people had been mistaking Sherlock and John for couple since the army doctor first moved into Baker Street.

Couple... Sherlock mused over the word in his head; twisting it, turning it, flipping it until it fitted into place, pouring over it like a scientist over his latest discovery and prodding into a shape that would hopefully make sense, that would fit in with his version of reality. But it remained the same, a word that refused to change no matter what he did to it. But...he liked it, liked the thought of it, liked the thought of sharing that word with John. He snuck a glance at the man in question who had barely moved an inch since the police had left, who hadn't even stirred at the mention of tea from Mrs Hudson who in the end had given up and left them to sort out whatever it was they had screwed up.

John's twisting his hands together in a barely noticeable movement; he's nervous about something. Biting his lip continuously; indecisive. A soft flush to his face and neck; embarrassment? Possibly. His eyes keep flicking steadily to Sherlock's face whenever he thinks the detective isn't looking, darting away before they can meet each other's gaze.

And that's it; that was all Sherlock Holmes could tell you about John Watson's state of mind at the current moment. For once, he couldn't seem to get a grasp of what he was thinking, to understand the whirring cogs beneath that normally open face. John is closed off to him, a locked room to which he doesn't have the key, and it bugged Sherlock to no end; after all what sort of consulting detective would he be if he couldn't even decipher his own flatmate?

But wait, John was straightening up, glancing over at him with he could only describe as hopeful curiosity.

"I think our moment was somewhat spoiled," the army doctor began slowly, drawing out each and every word like he was approaching a dangerous beast, unsure of how it would react. "We were deprived of the whole "You kissed me – I know" experience and the like."

Sherlock stared, not entirely sure what John was getting at, social matters not being his forte.

"For the sake of experience, I think we should maybe try a repeat, only _without _the interruption. You know, for science?"

And now Sherlock understood the vaguely hopefully look, understood and recognised it because he was probably wearing it himself.

"For science." He agreed, perhaps a little too quickly to be perceived as normal.

This time, it was John who took control.

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**If I takes ages for the next chapter, blame the Lord of The Rings fandom. By god, those fics are addicting! (;**


	17. Chapter 17

**Howdy all! This really should have been written sooner but tumblr distracted me. Yup, I spent the past few hours reblogging Johnlock and finding out that Series 3 really needs to come soon else madness shall descend ;D Oh and I discovered that it is near impossible for me to write non-angsty MorMor or indeed write anything else that _isn't _MorMor at the moment. No jokes, I have currently got one completed insanity one-shot, a WIP wingfic and the basic ideas for another fluff/angst piece all sitting on my hard drive at the moment *sigh***

**Oh, just to warn you, I _will_be changing my pen-name so I'm telling you guys now so not to cause any confusion^-^ I'll be changing it to Maestus because I really need something shorter than the hated one I'm using at the moment.**

**Thank you to ChangingTheCircumstances, ILoveMyIrishDarlings, FullMoonPhoenixShadow, Mirabilem Electo, DreamBiggerDarlingAE, Failed to De-anon, You should see me with a bafta, Sucre Bebe and Schrocken for leaving reviews for the last chapter ; big thank you to everyone else who is simply reading this whacky by-product of my mind.**

**Enjoy!**

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Manhandling a 6 foot sniper out of a car and into a flat was even harder than it sounded, Jim had discovered, especially when the aforementioned sniper seemed determined to be as uncooperative as possible and was actively swatting Jim's hands away whilst muttering about wanting to sleep. It took the combined efforts of both Jim and his driver to haul Sebastian up the steps and inside but eventually they managed, allowing the blond to collapse gratefully onto the sofa and curl up into a ball whilst the consulting criminal rolled his eyes and promised his driver a pay rise. Then, all he did was stand and stare with one eyebrow raised, wondering why he couldn't just get a nice normal sniper with psychopathic tendencies and no emotional connections.

"I'm fairly certain a bed would be more comfortable,"

"Can't be bothered moving," was the muffled reply, a cushion being pulled over a face.

"You do know you reek of alcohol and vomit? You smell like one of those drunks..." Jim wrinkled his nose distastefully, giving a shudder at the thought.

"Don't care."

"Shower, now; no excuses or I'll confiscate your rifle."

There was a groan as Sebastian grudgingly pulled himself up from the sofa, trudging through to the bathroom with all the grace of a blind rhinoceros and shooting death glares at Jim all the while.

"And don't dare touch my shower gel; I'm down to the last tube and that stuff is _expensive_," the consulting criminal added as an afterthought, sighing when the only response he received was the middle finger. Honestly, why did he even bother; it wasn't like Seb was going to listen anyway. Better go and add more of that shower gel to the shopping list then...

Then he stopped and wondered if there was any etiquette you were supposed to follow when you had an apparently depressed sniper on your hands. None came to mind but he knew of one person who might be of help and wasn't speed dialling such a wonderful thing?

"Molly,"

~~~linebreak~~~

The relationship Molly Hooper had with Jim Moriarty was a strange one to say the least. They had started off as dating then they weren't dating because he had been a real jerk and used her for his own purposes but he soon called her after that claiming he wanted to apologise and why don't they meet at that little coffee shop up the road, you know the one with the nice pastries? Stupidly, she agreed, they reconciled and as a reward she was landed with Jim's crazy train wreck of a sniper and all his emotional baggage with the expectations of humouring him and occasionally playing psychiatrist. Well, she supposed she also did get bodies on demand for whenever she needed to keep Sherlock amused, random gifts delivered to her door and two attentive gossip partners all in return for what was simply some minor surveillance and it always was funny to hear Jim denying that he ever showed up at her apartment late at night with a bottle of wine and catnip for Toby when his employees happened to notice him on his little late-night visits. And oh yes, sometimes she also was expected to provide advice on the subject of emotions.

Sometimes she wondered if she really had gotten a fair deal with this.

Her phone was going again, quite insistently, and it was playing_ that _ringtone, the one she most definitely couldn't ignore and even if she could she wasn't going to anyway because she needed to find out if Seb was okay, if he had actually went back to Jim or was still wandering the streets of London like the madman she knew he could be. For a few seconds she had a brief panic of _oh god, what if he's hurt himself; Jim will kill me for not stopping him from leaving _before calming and reassuring herself that Sebastian would never do something like that, even if he was wallowing in the depths of depression and had been all but crying onto her shoulder.

"Jim?"

"_I think I might need your help. Sebastian tried to kill himself and the usual approach is not going to work this time."_

Oh god.

She knew she should have refused Jim's offer of coffee.

~~~linebreak~~~

"You're not being much use here Molly," Jim complained, slouching down onto the sofa and tilting his head as he made sure the shower was still running. He heard the morgue technician sigh, something clattering in the background on her end of the line.

"_Well, what __**am **__I supposed to do? This is __**your **__mess Jim, not mine, and you're the only one who can fix it."_

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"_He's in the state he is because of __**you**__. Think about it, Jim."_

He did think about it – as if he hadn't already been thinking about it – and decided to play stupid despite already knowing; it would be interesting to hear her opinion. "Explain,"

"_You're messing with me, aren't you? I __**know **__you know so don't make me spell it out for you... ... ... Okay, I'm spelling it out for you. The two of you share an apartment. He makes you breakfast, he shoots people for you, he drops in at St Bart's and all he ever talks about is you –"_

"I knew it!" Jim suddenly exclaimed with a cackle, leaning forward in his seat and grinning smugly. "The pair of you have a little fan club; it's no wonder you get on so well. Is Sherlock a part of it as well? Oh, how about the pet; does he come and sit in?"

"_**Jim! **__As I was saying, all he ever talks about is you and yet you're too busy chasing after Sherlock to notice. People do like to be shown a bit of attention once in a while. Attention that they actually know they're receiving." _The last part was said rather pointedly and Jim realised then that Molly knew him far too well.

"Fine, okay; I won't make you into shoes."

Molly made a sound of surprise at his unexpected reply but he hung up before she could say anything for Sebastian had just re-entered the room, clad in only a pair of sweats with his hair sopping wet and Jim would rather the sniper not know that he was currently the subject of heated discussion. He threw himself down onto the sofa gracelessly, the faint whiff of orchids drifting over to where the consulting criminal sat.

"You used my shower gel again, you bastard," Jim sniffed huffily, curling a lip and putting on an air of quiet fury. What he _didn't _tell Seb was that he really didn't mind because truthfully, he'd only stuck with that certain brand of shower gel because the blond liked it. Really, he was going to have to start bribing Molly again; she was almost as bad as darling Sherly.

* * *

**I'm just going to warn you that it might be several days wait for the next chapter as I'm going to try and get a fairly long one written in order to get the story to the point where I need it to be so that I can then work out exactly where I'm taking this (the whole matter of Reichenbach has resulted in numerous mental debates over what's going to happen; the matter of tragedy vs Not Dead!)**

**Your thoughts, comments and opinions are very much appreciated!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Urghh, sorry for not updating for ages guys; been fairly busy. Back to school, am having to share a room with my two younger brothers at the moment and the homework is already piling up. But I finally finished this chapter!**

**Thank you to ChangingTheCircumstances, Sucre Bebe, Mirabilem Electo, Shylock, Artemis Fortune, Failed to De-anon, You should see me with a bafta, FastestKeyboardTyperInTheWes t, SH-in-the-TARDIS, DreamBiggerDarlingAE, JimmyHouse, Velvet Underside and raptoregg64 for leaving reviews and of course thank you to everyone merely reading this story as well.**

**Once again, sorry for the long wait.**

* * *

Sometimes, Jim mused, normality was actually quite nice; relaxing even. Just weeks ago, he would have rather shot himself than admit such a _weakness _but now with some shoot-it-out film playing on the television (complete with Sebastian's bitchy commentary – "_I mean, come on; he's not even holding the gun correctly!" "He hasn't even cleaned it!" "...They really are taking the piss here, aren't they? The gun wasn't loaded and we're expected to believe he can still shoot?" –_ which was amusing to say the least, not to mention a sign that things might just be edging back to normal) and an order of Chinese currently en route, he was surprised to find it so ...enjoyable (and yes, he was firmly ignoring the small part of his mind declaring it to be pleasantly domestic). And right at this moment, having that dreaded no doubt emotional talk with his sniper about the events of the past few days was the last thing on his mind, not when Sebastian seemed to be so..._happy._

For some reason, Sebastian's being happy made Jim happy too. He would have to look into this more at a later date.

"For god's sake; that was the worst shot I've ever seen! Someone take his gun away; he shouldn't be let loose with it!"

"Calm, Sebby; it's just a movie. Do you want me to fetch the Kalms?"

"It should still try to be accurate...Wait, you have _Kalms? _What happened to Mr Always In Control then?" Honest to god, the smirk the blond was wearing should be made illegal.

"You happened," Jim grumbled before switching to the defensive. "Besides, there's a lot more to being a consulting criminal than just sitting about looking pretty. I've got to keep my employees in line –"

"Shooting them is not keeping them in line,"

"-organise wages,-"

"Wages; what wages? You've certainly never paid _me._"

"- maintain employee happiness –"

"You're kidding with that one, right?"

"- chase after you and stop you from doing anything more stupid than usual –"

"I haven't even got a comment for that,"

"- plan out the next – will you stop interrupting and just listen? Or if you don't want to listen, go back to critiquing the sniper in the movie?"

"_That _is not a sniper; _that _is a sorry excuse for an amateur. I've seen kids use a gun more elegantly than he does!"

Jim sunk back against the couch in satisfaction, grinning like the cat that had got the cream, and patted Sebastian's shoulder. "There you go; unleash that anger on poor whatever his name is. Feeling better are we?"

The only response was the audible grinding of the sniper's teeth.

A few moments of intense action scenes passed during which several things blew up, there was further use of guns and the main character performed several more impossibly death-defying feats which in turn contributed to the running commentary-critique courtesy of one Sebastian Moran and the silent promise of Jim Moriarty that this movie was going to forever hold a place on shelf of memorable films.

He had to admit though, he was rather relived when the buzzer and Sebastian gratefully leapt from the couch to stalk to the front door because the way things were going, something was going to end up being launched at the screen and he was actually quite happy with his current television, thank you very much. Besides, shopping for electronics was downright tedious, especially with all those salespeople attempting to cajole you into buying things you didn't actually need. That trail of thought was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of food, glorious steaming Chinese that teased delightfully at his nostrils. A pair of forks joined it seconds later then Sebastian through himself onto the couch with all the grace of a dizzy elephant, one hand reaching for a tub of what appeared to be curry. Jim curled a lip, poking at his nice safe noodles instead.

Well, at least he had _thought _they were nice and safe up until the point where he put them in his mouth and promptly ran for the bin.

"What in the name of the continents did you do to my meal?" the consulting criminal ground out after he had thoroughly rinsed his mouth out with water, grinding his teeth together when Sebastian merely shrugged.

"Dunno; the menu said it was hot – beyond that I'm not too sure,"

In short that was how the sniper found himself lying on the floor with an irate psychopath perched on his chest.

Jim grinned, settling himself into a more comfortable position and folding him arms across the blond's chest, chuckling at the look of extreme hatred he was receiving.

"Well Sebby; seeing as you're going nowhere for the foreseeable future and our meal is currently spread across the floor, how about we have that talk now?"

Sebastian grunted, attempting to shift his arm into a position better suited for pushing Jim away. "What talk would that be?"

"You know what I'm meaning; now explain."

"I told you; it was a mistake. I wasn't thinking properly, those pills were there and it just... I don't know, it seemed like a good idea at the time"

There was a grunt as Sebastian succeeded in flipping Jim over so that he now held the position of authority, grinning wildly down at the criminal.

"They always do, don't they?" Jim commented, watching the secrets dancing away in his sniper's eyes. "All the lovely little plans spinning away in your head, demanding to be fulfilled; they never just _appear. _They're always there, biding their time until they finally rise to the surface. They're always there, _festering_."

"We're not all like you, Jim; some of us do have spur of the moment ideas. It was a stupid mistake; I didn't mean to do it."

"Liar liar pants on fire. Didn't your mother tell you what happens to little boys who lie?"

"Good thing I'm not a little boy then," Sebastian let out an oomph as Jim thumped him in the ribs before hissing as he found himself on his back once more, the criminal wearing his usual self satisfied smirk. "Jim, I really don't know what you're on about. Or what you're on for that matter."

"I don't like liars, Sebby; I _know _you're not telling me the truth. I know you consciously made the decision to attempt suicide; what I don't know is _why._"

"Want me to show you?" The whisper was a low sensual breath across Jim's cheek, tickling his skin with chilli and ginger undertones.

Jim merely nodded.

* * *

**And that's the end of that chapter! No promises for when the next one will be.**


	19. Still In Progress!

**Hey guys, I'm sorry to say this is not a new chapter. Unfortunately at the moment I've found myself swamped with homework, extra-curricular work and my own fiction not to mention revision for exams so I'm having to prioritise things if you'll pardon the pun and my fanfiction is having to take a backseat. On top of that I'm not going to have a laptop for at least two weeks as it's currently being fixed. Don't worry; I'm not abandoning Jim and Sebby - I will try and work on the next chapter when I have a chance but it might not be up for a while so I'm just posting an early warning now. Besides, I feel you guys deserve an explanation for the current hiatus.**

**So to confirm, I am still working on this story, I just don't have the time at the moment to write it or update ****.**

**Sorry guys, I'll try and get back as soon as possible.**

**XX Maestus **


	20. Chapter 19

**I got my laptop back and finally got this chapter written! And I don't even know what happened here - my original plans for the story ended up being tossed out of the window and replaced with this. Yup so warnings for absolute weirdness :D**

**Thank you to Artemis Fortune, ChangingTheCircumstances, Mirabilem Electo, Failed to De-anon, Sucre Bebe, You should see me with a bafta, DreamBiggerDarlingAE, Velvet Underside, oopsabird, Asphodel Winter, JimmyHouse and MintoKitsune for leaving reviews and also a big thank you to everyone who has favourited, followed or simply read this story; virtual cupcakes to you all!**

**Okay, so this is what happens when you have a spare two hours and Seb on the brain.**

* * *

Jim was there. Jim was everywhere and all around and in his head; he might even go so far as to say that at this point in time, he was Jim. He could taste the remains of the Chinese, that spicy hint still lingering on his lips with underlying hints of a sweeter more fruity taste beneath, and feel the warm breath rushing between his teeth, the steady heart beat pulsing lazily against the curve of palm where it rested on Jim's neck. The smaller man was oddly still throughout these proceedings, almost like he was more an observer than a participant, silently taking notes in his brilliant galaxy of a mind and storing them for future studies. But he doesn't mind, no, not one bit, because he only said he was going to _show _Jim, not go the full length...

One moment they're kissing, the next it's something else entirely. In the span of what could only be a few seconds at most, Jim has flipped their positions round and is grinning languidly down at him, fingers lightly dancing across Sebastian's suddenly bare chest (and when did he lose his shirt – he can't remember _that _happening). But there's no time, no time, because he is being pulled to his feet and led in the direction of the bedroom (_Jim's _bedroom) and never mind the empty look in Jim's eyes or the fact that this is beginning to feel awfully like a one night stand type of activity, the sniper just can't bring himself to care.

There's another one of those blackout moments because now he's on the bed and Jim is above and below and all around and he no longer knows what is happening but everything's fine because who needs to know that sort of thing anyway? That should have been his first clue; his complete disregard for things he knew to be important.

Jim's eyes are still dead as he ducks down; it doesn't matter – it's all fine, even if Jim's eyes are _never _empty, are always full of life as he dances and cheats and murders his way through life. Well, his employees murder their way through life for him but the sentiment is there. But back to Jim, back to what he's doing, oh god, _what he is doing. _And that was his second clue because the only other time Sebastian couldn't concentrate was when...

_Oh god._

...

... ...

... ... ...

Sebastian woke up. The bed sheets were tangled around his legs and the thick heady scent of sex hung in the air as he stared unblinkingly up at the ceiling, barely even remembering to breathe. Last night is a bit of a haze but he remembered enough, knew enough to realise that from the very beginning , Jim had had it all planned out.

Jim had _drugged _him.

Okay he shouldn't be so surprised and judging by the mild headache and bitter taste at the back of his throat, it had only been a mild sedative but still... He sighed, running a hand up and over his face until he had himself composed enough to risk stumbling out of the bed and through into the kitchen, scrambling like a blind man for the tap to duck his head beneath its blissfully cool jet. The half eaten Chinese carton gazed at him curiously from the opposite bunker, so incongruous with the rest of the setting that he started, water dripping down his chin as he simply stared in confusion. Jim hated mess... Jim wouldn't leave _that _sitting out, not when it would stink out his kitchen and urgghh, have you even _considered _the germs?

He ran to the door; it was locked. Of course it was – Jim obviously didn't want him interfering with whatever his Insane Plan for The Day was – and even though he could have quite easily kicked it in, he left it, choosing instead to muse over the meaning of this new development. It was obvious, he supposed; anything he had thought was there between the pair of them was faked, was little more than feigned emotions and falsified looks, and in the end the lure of Sherlock would always prove too much. How he could he win against the attraction of another genius, he a mere sniper who almost certainly wasn't the sharpest pencil in the box or at least not when he was in the box with Sherlock and Jim? Like attracts like, right?

Yup, he had allowed himself to be lulled into his sense of absolute security like the fool he was and had been well and truly fucked over for his troubles. But oddly enough, he only felt contentment, perhaps at the fulfilment of some previously unknown desire to be strung along and messed about with. _I came, I saw and I tried to conquer but not everything goes to plan. _

He had never felt this calm.

It was _unnerving_

It was... peaceful.

And then, his revelation for the day over, he went back to bed.

* * *

**Okay, so I have my work experience next week and this week we had two days off so I managed to use that to get on top of all the homework we'd been handed, leaving me with - shock horror - free time! And then I wrote... this. No, I don't know what happened here; afterwards I sat and stared at it, thinking _mind, why are you so depressing? _Maybe it just seemed the more Jim thing to do ;D**

**There is at least one, maybe two more chapters after this; originally there would have been more but the way I decided to take this has changed things a lot. I had been in debate over which ended I would use though so at least this has solved the problem!**

**I'll try and get the next chapter written soon; I'm not getting loaded down with any more homework for a week! Sorry for the long wait for this chapter.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Okay, the first thing I would like to say is I am so sorry for how long it has taken me to update and finish this story. I know it sounds like a poor excuse but I have truthfully been incredibly busy: I've had exams, a heck of a lot of school work, and due to the worsening of a member of my family's arthritis, I've been helping a lot round the house. On top of that, I'm also working on my own novel, but at long last I found inspiration for this story and finished the final chapter. I'll admit, I'm not exactly overjoyed with it but I like it (:**

**So to anyone who's still watching this, I hope you enjoy this and I sincerely hope it at least partially makes up for the long hiatus. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed and favourited this story: your support means a lot!**

**And without further ado, the final chapter of Priorities. Several months late... Sorry. /:**

* * *

The morning dawned quietly, rather than with a bang and with a body part on the pillow as he was accustomed to, and Sebastian rather preferred this awakening. The flat felt peaceful, like some restful spirits had finally been exorcised: it was strange and yet at the same time it made perfect sense, not that he could explain it to you. Later on, he would realize that restless spirit had been Jim all along, Jim who cared for no one but himself and the game.

He shuffled through to the kitchen, made himself a coffee, contemplated the half eaten Chinese _still _sitting there, wrinkled his nose at the sight and then tossed it in the bin. And then, he thought.

Jim drugged him; Jim only drugged him when he was doing something he knew Seb would disapprove of and wanted him out of the way. Conclusion, Jim was hiding something, though that was a no brainer. A quick scan of his phone revealed one text message, cryptic as always: _Guess who won._

It made perfect sense.

The coffee was bitter against his throat, slipping down with a cringe and a grimace – far too strong but it was what he would need if his assumptions were correct and that call was indeed coming, not that he wanted to answer it. Everything felt... detached, unreal, a false reality into which he had been thrust and his head was spinning with memories of the other night, of brutal thrusts and dead eyes staring into his home, a languid voice drawling "_This is what you want, isn't it? Or is it really? Are you sure? I don't think you are; I think you're looking for something else, huh Sebby? Wanting something normal, aren't we?"_

He cut the voice off. In a way, that had been a confirmation of some previously unknown idea, not quite a mistake but not exactly a good decision either. It was the exorcism of the restless ghouls, he realized, the ritual cleansing of a past that had never been properly confronted. And now that he looked at it, he knew that he had been correct all along, that all of his doubts and his concerns and every single niggling thought that whispered something wasn't quite right were the truth he had blinded himself to.

There was never anything more than Jim, the Game and Sherlock – no one else registered upon that playing board other than as pawns, mindless creatures to used and abused, sacrificed in the name of war. And despite having known it all along, that didn't make any easier.

Nor did it make it hurt any less.

~~~linebreak~~~

He went out for a walk after that, not wanting to face the news or the radio or, godforbid, that phone call just yet, and his treacherous feet led him places he neither wanted to see nor wanted to be. St. Barts, with the cordons of police tape, swarm of journalists and the blood stains across the pavement; Scotland Yard where yet more reporters had made camp, ruthlessly ambushing any police officer brave enough to venture outside; Baker Street where a sad faced man answered the door and invited him in and then asked him just what he was doing here.

He didn't know either.

They shared a pot of tea in silence, taking delicate sips and staring out of the window in favour of meeting each other's eye, both determinedly ignoring the elephant in the room. No conversation, no acknowledgement, nothing but quiet thoughts. It was almost the same as sitting with Jim, Seb mused.

But not quite, and he liked that, liked the difference, this moment of utter normality, so different from what he was used to. He thought of his guns back home, of the various weapons he had stashed away in safehouses all across the country, of the faded bloodstains in the carpet barely concealed by an assortment of rugs. And then he looked at the world John had build up around him and compared the two.

"What are you going to do now?" John asked, raising a shrug out of Sebastian.

"Dunno: go somewhere else probably. Find someone else in need of a hired gun or hire some myself: I don't know. Maybe one day you'll find me and bring me to justice." His lips quirk into a smirk at the thought and he can see John doing the same before the older man' eyes grow abruptly, though not unexpectedly, sad.

"Ha, no. You'll be free to roam: I'm putting all of_ that_ behind me,"

Ah of course, he was forgetting the freak, the virgin, Sherlock:Sebastian wasn't the only one to have lost that which up until now had made up his life. John was looking away again.

"Why are you here?"The doctor repeated his unanswered question from earlier, though his voice was now resigned, as if he already knew the answer, an answer Seb now knew too or at least he thought he did.

"To say goodbye?"

"So you're definitely leaving. then."

"Seems like it: we don't have to go through the whole 'there's nothing. left for me here'conversation, do we? Besides, Jim's probably left something incriminating concerning me for the police to find -he'd have thought it funny." Sebastian stood up, laying down his drained cup and holding out a hand. "Nice meeting you and sorry about, well, everything."A slightly sheepish grin that he knew fell dead short of his eyes. John raised himself to meet Seb's hand, the shake firm and concise but impersonal.

"Bye then,"

Perhaps Sebastian was imagining it but he fancied he could hear the hidden 'stay'within those words: however John never said anything else and Sebastian made no suggestions. And that was that.

~~~linebreak~~~

He never settled, at least not like he did with Jim, instead floating from one job to another, a drifting feather on which information was lacking. He made enough money to get by, he stayed away from the big stuff -it wasn't perfect but it would do.

A few years after, he heard of the prodigal detective's glorious return from his latest haunt near the Anglo-Scottish border and laughed because it was so typical. Always a happy ending, or near enough, for the good guys whilst the baddie was left to slink off into the shadows, never to be seen again.

It was funny what three years of your own twisting thoughts did, how they changed and warped into something new but perhaps it was just Jim, perhaps that psychopath had succeeded in rubbing off on him. But either way, news of Sherlock's resurrection filled him with elation, with a drive to do something spectacular, something to utterly outdo all of Jim's work. Of course, the chances of success were slim -he would be hard pressed to ever mastermind that such as Jim did, to ever make the freak look at him in the same way, as an equal. But he would do it.

Sebastian Moran was determined to make himself the top of someone's ones priorities.

* * *

**Well, it's taken a while but it's finally finished, the story that was initially only supposed to be a oneshot but instead evolved into this. I hope you enjoyed it and thank you again for reading. I'm going to hopefully try and reply to every reviewer (:**

**And now, my inner fangirl and I are going to go and sob in a corner whilst we try to find something new to pour our creativity (and incessant need to inflict pain upon fictional characters) into.**

**Over and out and merry christmas!**


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